


Leaving Rockton

by the_wanlorn



Category: Rockton - Kelley Armstrong
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, F/M, Happy Ending, Not beta'd we die like men, POV First Person, Present Tense, Rockton, fluff I think?, i think it's cute at least, post A Darkness Absolute, post book 2, slight angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-12
Updated: 2019-09-14
Packaged: 2020-10-17 02:17:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 24,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20613311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_wanlorn/pseuds/the_wanlorn
Summary: Something’s rotten in the town of Rockton.When the council gives Casey an ultimatum — pay us or get out — she leaves her life behind and moves to Dawson City. Something smells fishy, though, so she begins to investigate. Can she expose what the council is doing to Rockton before spring? And will her relationship with Dalton survive their separation?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Oh man you guys. I wrote this in fucking 2017, sent it to my BFF to beta, and then we both forgot about it. Until now. It's a canon AU set after _A Darkness Absolute_, since, yanno, it was written before the other two books came out. I hope y'all enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!
> 
> It's finished in two chapters and an epilogue, but unbeta'd. We die like men.

We've made jokes before, about what to do if one of us got kicked out of Rockton. For the most part, they were to make Eric feel better, because I knew there was no way the council could justify kicking either of us out. They knew that he was too valuable, and that if I went, he went. We weren't in danger.

So we hashed out vague plans for a new Rockton. Vague plans for Eric trying to live down south. As if I would ever let him do that. But it didn't really matter, because neither of us were going to be forced to leave.

* * *

It's November, barely any time after getting Nicole back for the second time, when the two of us are called into Val's house for a seemingly impromptu council meeting. I'm expecting something about a new resident, or maybe trouble with the next supply run. Maybe even another murder to solve.

Instead, I'm given two options: fork over a significant amount of money to be allowed to stay, or go back down south. "Go home," they call it, as though the south is the place I belong to. As though I haven't made my home here in Rockton, with my dog and my lover and my friends.

"You're here under false pretenses," Phil says when I calmly point out that my time isn't up. A sideways glance to Dalton tells me that he's just as shocked as I am. Shocked, and angry. "You knew this could be a problem from the beginning."

"No," I snap. "I didn't. Since forcing Diana to stay, not one of you has ever mentioned that. I can't afford to give you a hundred thousand dollars once, never mind-"

"It's just an entry fee," Phil says mildly. "And we have seen the size of your inheritance."

Phil's voice is even, like he's discussing stock market prices, or a business deal. Not whether or not I'm going to have to walk away from my entire life and, for all intents and purposes, start a new one.

Dalton is just staring, in shock.

"Oh, no," I say. "I know how blackmail works — and this _is_ blackmail, isn't it. You want more than twice what I earned in a year down south, and in return, you won't take my entire life from me. Is the cash flow from entering residents drying up? Haven't found enough people to pay large entry fees?"

It's the only reason I can think of that they'd be hitting me up for money after over a year of living here. The minimum stay is two years. I shouldn't be allowed to leave even if I wanted to. Hell, the six months Dalton originally threatened me with hasn't even gone by.

"You can afford this, Casey. One simple payment, that's all. Then you can stay for as long as you like."

"It doesn't matter if she can afford it or not," Dalton breaks in. "That's not how it works here. You don't get in and have to pay a second entrance fee to stay. I need my detective-"

"She's been quite successful, hasn't she?" Phil says over him. "She's solved the problem she was brought in to deal with, and a second one you didn't know existed." There's a slight stress on the word "you," and I clench my teeth in reaction. That's a dig at Dalton for not finding Nicole when she first went missing. For giving up the search once he found a body in her clothing.

"That just shows that we need her up here," Dalton says. "She-"

"No," Phil says. I can see Dalton's jaw working out of the corner of my eye, no doubt ready to explode the next time Phil interrupts him. "You need _a_ detective, Sheriff. But there's no reason it has to be her." He pauses, letting the suggestion that he's found another detective for Rockton sink in. "Besides all that, don't you think she deserves to return home? Now that she's fixed Rockton's major problems?"

I snort and cast a sidelong glance to Dalton again. He's looking at me now, his face blank and eyes hard. A few months ago, I would have thought that meant he didn't care if I left or stayed. Now, I know he's bracing himself. If there was one thing he knew about people, it was that everybody leaves Rockton. He stays, and everybody leaves.

It doesn't matter that we talked about this very scenario. That if I have to leave and it has nothing to do with him, he'll come south with me and try to deal with living there.

"I-" I start, ready to turn down the "offer" and tell Dalton we'll figure something out. But I can't do that without talking to him first, because if he says there's nothing _to_ figure out, that if I leave that's it, well...

Phil's right. I do have a large inheritance, and it's been doing nothing but earning interest in a bank since my parents died. I could probably put this conversation off for a few years, at least, if I played my cards right. If I was willing to be blackmailed into slowly handing over every last penny.

"How long is this offer good for?" I ask. Dalton flinches minutely beside me, and when I brush my hand against his, he doesn't catch it and hold it. Shit.

"I think we can wait twenty-four hours," Phil says. Never give the victim time to really think about it. The longer you give them, the more likely they are to stop panicking and come to their senses or go to the cops. "I trust you'll be waiting with an answer at one tomorrow," he adds, and hangs up.

"Fuck," I say. Dalton says nothing, just turns and walks out the door, his jaw clenched. "Shit," I add.

"I tried, Casey," Val says. "I told them that we needed you here, but they said they could send another detective. I-"

"Yeah, okay," I say, cutting her off and heading for the door. "See you tomorrow."

* * *

When I finally find Dalton, after checking that the horses are all in the stable and the ATVs are all accounted for, he's sitting on the balcony off our bedroom. Storm is with him, laying at his side, her tail sweeping slowly across the floor. He's got one hand buried in her fur, and one hand clenched around the neck of the bottle of tequila I keep stashed in the kitchen.

He lifts up the bottle and takes a swig, sputtering a little after swallowing. He's still a lightweight, and it's still as adorable as it was the first time I realized he can't hold his liquor. Or drink hard liquor with any kind of dignity.

The walk has given me some sort of clarity on the situation. This is weird. Being basically forced out of Rockton _now_, in the middle of a bad winter, is suspicious. It's almost like the council wants to get rid of me for some reason.

Huh. I wonder what that could be.

"Eric-" I say. He doesn't turn around before interrupting.

"I know which you're choosing, Casey," he says, his voice flat. "You wouldn't've asked for time if you were going to stay." He takes another swig and coughs at the burn. "And you wouldn't ask for time if you planned on both of us leaving, together."

"That's not-"

"I knew this was coming." He barrels on right over me. "I _knew_ it, but I still told myself- No. I knew it, and I thought I was okay with it. I thought I'd be able to- to take this gracefully. But I-"

His free hand is alternating clenching and unclenching Storm's fur as he talks. It only took me maybe half an hour to realize he was probably at home, not in the forest, so there's no way he's drunk already. He's just reacting poorly — very poorly — to the idea that I might be leaving.

Or to the idea that he might have to try to live down south, because he made me a silly promise near the beginning of our relationship. Shit. Would he know he doesn't have to keep that kind of promise? Does he even _want_ to try to keep that kind of promise?

What if this was just a chance for him to escape. He'd always said that the problem with all the other women he had casual things with before was that they wanted to "fix" him and take him back south with them. If he's just with me now because it's easier than trying to break up, and he's just drinking some liquid courage so he can tell me...

Fuck. His insecurities are starting to rub off on me.

No, that's not fair. They're mine, I've just never had a chance to think about them before. I'm just as new to actual long-term relationships as he is.

"Maybe you should stay with Petra tonight," he continues, and then shakes his head. "No, I'll go stay with Will. I can't kick you out of our house, obviously. I just need to grab a few things and then I'll be out of your way. Will won't mind."

He breaks off for another swig, and I take the chance to say, "Are you done?"

"Yeah," he says, pushing himself to his feet. Storm whines, and he glances down at her, wobbling slightly, before taking a step toward the door. "I'm sorry. Fuck, I'm not trying to make this harder. I'll-"

"Sit back down," I say, coming forward and slipping the tequila bottle out of his loose grasp, coincidentally blocking his escape route. "Now it's my turn to talk."

"Casey-" he starts, but I slap my hand over his mouth and shake my head.

"Nope, my turn." I poke him until he sits, then fold myself down next to him, not quite touching. Storm gets up and comes around to sit next to me, like the good dog she is. Dalton watches her with nothing but misery on his face, and I sigh.

"Eric," I say, waiting until his eyes meet mine before continuing. "I'm not going to upend both our lives without talking to you about it first. If you weren't so busy panicking, you'd know that. So take a breath."

He does, even though I didn't mean it literally. I try to smile at that, but I can't, because this is the part where it could all go wrong. This is the part where he could say I'm not worth it, that he changed his mind. I don't think he will, but...

"It's not going to stop at a hundred grand. You know that, right?" I ask. He nods, reluctantly. "And you know I'll run out of money eventually." He nods again. His eyes are rimmed with red, and I want so badly to kiss the look in them away. It isn't fear, or rage, or any other emotion he could act on. They're full of resignation.

"I'll go with you," he blurts suddenly. "I know you won't ask, but I said I'd go before, and I meant it. Fuck the council, fuck Rockton, fuck it all."

I smile at him, a little sad, but mostly trying not to let the ego boost warm me, and feeling guilty for the fact that it was. It's nice to hear someone would give up their entire life — a good life, not an empty half-dead one like mine was before I came up here — to be with you.

I push down the reaction because he's right; I'd never ask him to do that. I can't ask him to do that. This is his home. Taking him south would be like expecting a saltwater fish to survive in an inland pond.

"Casey..." he says, swaying a little where he sits. "If- If this is- If you've wanted to break up and felt you couldn't because- Fuck." He closes his eyes and runs a hand through his hair. "Shouldn't've drank your tequila."

"No, you shouldn't have," I agree. I slide over until I'm able to put my arm around him, keeping him close even as he stiffens when I enter his space. "I don't want to break up with you, but you're not going south with me. I wouldn't let you."

His body, already stiff and unyielding, goes rock hard at that, and he tries to pull away and get up. I won't let him and dig my fingers into his arm to stop him.

"If this is you trying to let me down easy, you can stop. I get it." He tries to pull away again, and when he fails, slumps and goes to run his hands through his hair. He falters, though, and ends up just putting his face in his hands.

"No, you don't," I say. If I'd had to imagine this conversation, I would've said it would go exactly as terrible as it is. Neither of us are good at hard conversations, and we tend to make them harder than they need to be. Case in point.

"Look," I say. "We both know you can't come south. We both know I can't stay here." I took a deep breath. "I know we never really discussed what would happen if I was the one the council kicked out."

"We did," he says into his hands, his voice muffled. "I said I'd go with you."

"And I appreciate the sentiment," I say, smiling softly. "You have no idea how much I do, but I can't let you do that."

"It's-"

"No, it's not okay, and it's not something you need to prove you can do, and it's not something I want you to do," I tell him and he shuts up, head still in his hands. "We never talked _much_ about a contingency plan for me leaving. But..." I take a breath because as much as I know this is what I want to do, it doesn't mean it's what Eric wants to do. "But, remember that morning we talked about what we'd do if the council kicked you out? So they wouldn't have leverage over you anymore?"

It takes him a moment, but he finally nods, his shoulders tightening.

I take another deep breath. Here goes... "I think we should do that. I still bet half the town would follow y-"

"Absolutely not," he says, raising his head to look at me, his gaze fierce and unrelenting. Unfortunately for him, he may be an immovable object, but I'm an immovable force. "I can't ask you to-"

"You're not asking, I'm telling," I say with a half smile. He doesn't smile back.

"It's too dangerous," he says. "It's not like if we walk twenty kilometers and start a new settlement. We were talking... It's just too dangerous."

I'm bristling, but manage to keep my voice steady as I say, "Too dangerous for you or too dangerous for me?"

He immediately looks guilty, and I nod. That's what I thought.

"If you don't want to..." I say, my voice a little unsteady at the thought. "If you'd rather stay in Rockton, I get it. Because you're right, it is dangerous. It might not be worth-"

"Of course it'd be worth it," he says fast. "How could you even think I'd say it's not _worth it_. I just... I couldn't live with myself if I got you killed because I couldn't deal with moving south. Which I can deal with. So it's what we should do."

"No," I say scooting around so we're facing each other. I lean over and press a light kiss to his forehead, before leaning my forehead against his, noses bumping. "I don't want to force you into doing something you don't want to do. But the truth is, I don't think I could go south anymore. See," I add, teasing, "I got a job that gave me too much freedom and fell in love with a guy that-"

"Don't," he snaps, pulling back and startling me into silence. "Don't even joke about doing this because of me. If-" He swallows, hard, and I recognize that look. It's the look he gets when he's trying not to hope too much. "If this is something you really want to do, okay. But it should be something _you_ want to do. I'd..." He looks around, his gaze zeroing in on the tequila bottle. I unsubtly move it further away and he sighs.

"I'd never forgive myself if you did this for me and ended up realizing I'm-" He catches my look and quickly changes direction. "_It's_ not worth it. Living out there isn't like living in Rockton. It's-"

"I know," I say. "I know it's probably not even something I can imagine. But as sure as I am that you'd... not do well in the south-" his jaw works but he doesn't say anything "-I'm just as sure that I won't regret this. It's-"

He cuts me off with a kiss, deep and desperate and full of all of his fear and anxiety. I pour my terror of losing him into my response, pulling him closer. I can handle losing my home. I can probably handle losing the friends that won't want to follow us into the wilderness. I definitely can't handle losing him.

He doesn't try to move further than a kiss, and I'm the one who breaks it finally. I don't want to, but we're not done talking. I shiver a little as a breeze picks up, and Eric frowns, about to get up and get me a blanket.

"Uh-uh," I say, before he can. "This conversation isn't over."

He looks wary, but relaxes back down.

"You need to take time to think about whether or not you really want to do this," I say, giving him a look when he goes to protest. He does need time, and I need time to figure out what the council is trying to pull. I can't tell him that I suspect something fishy is going on without having anything to back it up. It would do nothing but get him pissed off at them, and if I was wrong... "We both have twenty-three-ish hours to think about it. This isn't going to be something we can take back."

"I'm tired of the council's threats to kick me out," he says. "I'm not going to change my mind, not if you're leaving."

I nod. "We still need to think about it seriously. And here's the part you're not going to like."

"You're saying I like any of this?" he asks, a faint smile playing around his lips even as he clenches his jaw.

"I'm saying you're going to like this a lot less than the rest of this," I say, and pause. I look over at Storm, who's flopped down on the floor next to me, sleeping. Then I look back to Eric and say, "I'm going to need to move to Dawson City, at the least for a few months, and you can't come with me."

His jaw works for a moment before he manages a, "What?"

"It's November," I say. "We'd need to do this in the spring, you know that. And you can't come to Dawson City with me until, what, April? Because they need you up here during the winter."

He looks like he's going to argue, so I add, "Plus, you need to ask around quietly and find out who wants to go with us, and talk to Jacob and see what he wants to do."

I watch as he turns that over in his mind for a minute, gaze staring out into the forest. "I won't see you for almost six months. What if-"

"First of all," I say, leaning over to peck his lips quickly, "No. Even if we didn't see each other for six months, I'm confident that both of us could keep it in our pants and wait." He snorts out a strained laugh. "But you get out to Dawson City every few weeks, right?" He nods. "And you've kept doing that even though it's winter now, so I assume that's not going to change."

He nods, his eyes a little distant. I can see him already planning out trips and alternatives to work around the weather.

"So will this work?" I ask.

He nods, slowly, and when he raises his hand to my cheek to draw me into another kiss, I realize his fingers are trembling. He cups my face with them, and I cover his hand with mine as our lips move, full of promise.

* * *

**Early November**

Phil is not pleased. He expected me to give in, and this show of willpower is not what he wanted from this phone call. I get the sense that Phil usually gets what he wants.

That's the problem with white men in high up the corporate food chain. They forget that people can refuse them.

When the call devolves into a shouting match between Phil and Dalton, I walk out with a quick peck to Dalton's cheek. I still need to pack more. It's amazing how much stuff you can accumulate, even living in the middle of nowhere with limited access to, well, everything.

I'm putting the last of the things that are definitively mine into the final box when Petra comes by.

"You're really leaving," she says, sitting on the couch, a rolled piece of paper in her hands.

"Yeah," I say, surprised at the amount of force it takes to get the single word out. I realize it hasn't quite hit yet, that I'm going and might never see any of these people again. There's still a part of me thinking that maybe it's a mistake, maybe Dalton will pull a last minute Hail Mary.

"Oh," she says, fiddling with the roll of paper. "We're going to miss you. Especially Ricky," she adds with a wink.

I laugh and shake my head. Ricky's the new guy in town and hasn't learned yet not to cross Dalton. So he's not bothering to hide his attraction to me. It's flattering, sure, but not something I'm interested in any more than I'm interested in Dalton getting into a pissing contest with him over me.

"Yeah," I say again, vaguely. "Listen, Eric's going to want to talk to you after I leave. Can you just..."

She stares at me for a minute, then a slow smile spreads across her face. "You have a plan."

"Mm," I say, noncommittal, but returning her smile. "Maybe. But I'm going to miss you too."

We chat for a few minutes with minimal awkwardness — goodbyes are always awkward — before she has to leave for her shift. She hands me the roll of paper as she leaves, telling me it was going to be a Christmas present.

Once she's out the door, I slowly unroll it. It's a scene in the Lion, the group of people I think of as the core of Rockton. Even Isabel's there. Dalton and I are in a corner, heads bent together, Storm at our feet. Anders is playing darts with Petra. Isabel's at the bar, watching. Diana's dancing with Kenny, and there's a smattering of others sitting at tables or the bar.

I'm not crying anymore when Dalton comes in, but he sees my red eyes and doesn't even ask, just pulls me into a tight hug. I've been trying not to think about leaving him behind. If I can pretend that it's no different from going on a vacation, then it'll be okay.

"They want us- you to leave tomorrow," he says after a while. "I think they're hoping such a short timetable will change your mind." He pulls back to look at me, just a touch of uncertainty and fear in his eyes. "The plan still..."

"Yeah," I say, and tilt my head up to kiss him briefly. "I love you, you know."

He laughs, and his voice sounds choked when he says, "That sounds an awful lot like goodbye."

I try to keep a teasing smile on my face when I say, "Hey, you never know, couple weeks of having your place to yourself again, you might change your mind about the whole thing."

"Our place," he says, his voice serious. "Couple weeks of our place being half empty. I'm not gonna change my mind, Casey. I promise."

I force out a laugh. "I don't want you making promises you-"

He cuts me off by kissing me again, hard. When he pulls back, he says, again, "I _promise_. If I existed as a person down south, I'd-" He looks away for a moment, before turning back and saying, "Well. I'm not so it doesn't matter."

I'm going to push it, but a knock sounds at the door, Anders come to find out if it's really true I'm leaving.

It's going to be a long night.

* * *

**Mid November**

Investigating the council starts with me hitting a wall.

There are two things I know for certain about the council: a guy named Phil belongs to it, if that's his real name, and it controls Rockton. That's it. Dalton could probably tell me more if he were in Dawson City with me, give me something more to go on, but he's not.

I should've asked him before I left. Or at least clued him into the fact that I suspect the council is up to something. Instead, I was distracted by, well.

If only I knew something else, but I couldn't even trust that the council was more than just Phil. And Phil was such a common name that was virtually useless.

It would help if I had access to Dalton's pay stubs, if they even gave him pay stubs. The only people who might know anything about that, the only people who Dalton really talks to down here, are his adoptive parents. Even that's a long shot, given that they kidnapped him from his real family. He didn't talk much about his relationship with them.

A long shot is better than nothing, though, so I just need to find a way to call them. Dalton's secret cell phone is in the woods somewhere, but I doubt I can find it.

I throw myself into searching. As long as I'm looking for his parents, I'm not thinking about how much I miss him already.

Dalton is, unfortunately, a common name. I just need to find a set of Daltons — or is it only one? Had Dalton ever mentioned a mother? Shit, I should've listened more closely — who moved here just before Dalton became sheriff. Easier said than done.

The coffee shop ends up being my go-to place for when I need to research for a few hours. It has more stable internet than my apartment and a coffee supply that comes to me instead of me having to get up and make it. It isn't long before I'm considered a regular, as much as "the new girl" can be considered a regular anywhere.

Being a regular comes with having acquaintances. Paul, the cafe owner, knows my name and face first and always has time to chat when I'm getting my first coffee of the morning. Then comes Paul, from the hardware store, who comes in just a bit after me every morning. He stops to make sure there's nothing I need help with out at my apartment.

And then, there's Mary.

"Now, I know you're not writing some book," she says, after I've spent almost two weeks fruitlessly searching. She slowly sits down in the other chair at the table. I swear I can hear her joints creaking as she does it.

Mary has lived in town all her life, and it's been a long life. She's a bush pilot, or was. She "had an accident" recently and, according to Paul and Paul, she might never fly again. No one will come out and say what the accident was, and I'm not going to pry.

"No, Mary, not a book," I say with a sigh. She's nice, and I like her, but trying to narrow down every Dalton in the entirety of Canada to those who reappeared in the right time frame? Nearly impossible. Even if I still had all those detective resources at my fingertips, I'm not sure I'd be able to find them.

"Well then, what is it?" she asks, craning her neck to see what's on my laptop screen.

"Just trying to find some people," I say, letting her look. What can it hurt? Maybe she-

"Oh, you looking for the Daltons?" she says and I nearly drop my coffee cup.

"Yeah," I say calmly, working to not give away how much I wanted whatever information she had. She seemed like the type who would want to play a game with it, and I didn't need a game. I needed a phone number, or at least a clue.

"Gosh, that must've been, what? Five? Six years ago?" she says and takes a long sip of her own coffee, then leans forward. "What do you want with them?"

I don't have a story prepared, so I blurt out the first thing that comes to me. "I have a message from friends up north."

She nods. "They said something about heading for the Whitehorse area, if that helps at all."

"It does," I say, and start the search over again, this time limiting it to the area around Whitehorse. When I look up again, she's still sitting there, watching me.

"They're not in any kind of trouble, are they?" she asks.

I laugh. "It's a bit late to be asking that, isn't it?" She doesn't say anything, so I continue when the silence grows awkward. "No, no trouble. Like I said, I-"

"Have a message from friends up north," she says. "Yeah, I heard you. Doesn't mean they're not in trouble."

"Well, they're not. I'm just looking to pass along some news." Once I filter out all the mentions of the Dalton Trail Lodge, I'm left with a few names. I save them to a file and look up to see Mary's gone.

Back at my apartment, I'm on the phone almost before the door closes. The story I've concocted is simple enough to leave in voicemails, but urgent sounding enough to get callbacks if the right person hears it. Their son is stuck at the airport and needs some cash to get home, could they please call back at this number.

I'm halfway down the list, having gotten a series of "sorry, we don't have a son" and no answers, before hitting upon a man who pauses once I'm done rattling off my spiel.

"My son," he says, slowly. His voice is rough like he smokes, or just doesn't talk much.

"Yeah," I say. I don't know if Dalton ever told his father that the council bugged his phones, but I didn't want to risk it.

Before I could say anything else, he's saying, "You in the Whitehorse area?"

"I can be," I say, calculating how much this is going to cost me. It's a seven hour trip, two or three tanks of gas, or something like six hundred or so for a round trip flight. Fuck.

He gives me an address and time two days from now and hangs up. I'm still not sure this is the right Dalton, but if it is I won't be surprised. At all.

* * *

**Late November**

The address is to a small bookstore. I check it out, the surrounding area too, to make sure this isn't some council trap. I'm not sure what specifically I'm worried about them doing, but it's definitely something. There's no way they don't still have Dalton's father's phone tapped.

I'm browsing the shelves, looking for something I can maybe bring back for Dalton, when a man comes to stand beside me. He's tall, of average build, with dark hair and light eyes.

"My son sent you?" he asks.

"Not exactly," I say. I head to the counter to checkout, and after a moment, he follows behind. I can tell from the pause and the look he shoots my way that he expected to be in charge of this meeting and isn't pleased that I'm taking control.

"Do you have anywhere we can talk in private?" I ask after I thank the woman behind the register.

"You're a fool if you think I'm following a council girl anywhere," he says.

I bark out a harsh laugh. "I'm not with the council. Eric didn't send me, but I'm here for him. The council's trying to pull something, and I need to find out what."

"You think you can protect him from the council?" He laughs, a deep belly laugh. "I've been telling him for years they're just giving him enough rope to hang himself. Is the noose finally tightening?"

"He's your son," I say, a little baffled by his nonchalance. "Don't you care?"

"He's a _survivor_," he says in return. "It doesn't matter what they try to do to him. He'll be fine."

"Uh huh," I say. He seems to realize we're just standing in the middle of the sidewalk and beckons me to follow him. I check that my gun's still on me out of habit, and follow.

He leads me to a small, dingy diner, out of the way and nearly empty.

"Okay," he says, after the waitress brings us both steaming cups of coffee. "What do you need to know?"

"Names, if you have them," I say. "Shell companies they use, anything that will help me find them."

He nods, and begins to talk.

* * *

**Early December**

It turns out a month, give or take, is a long time. A snowstorm kicks up the morning Dalton's supposed to fly into Dawson City, and I can only pray that he's smart and doesn't try to make it here.

I meant to put away my research and enjoy the time we have together, not ready to bring my findings to him yet. Instead, I spend two full days following up on leads and worrying that he did try and went down somewhere. When I suggested this whole idea, it hadn't occurred to me what it would be like to have no way to get in touch with him if I needed to, or vice versa. I could call Val's sat-phone, but there's no guarantee the call would even make it through, or that I would get any answers.

On the third day, there's a knock at my door, and when I open it, he's standing there with a grin of anticipation on his face.

"Sorry I'm late," he says as I fist my hand in his jacket and pull him inside. "It was a bit snowy out."

I glance out the door as I shut it, at the three foot drifts to the side of the driveway. "Sure, just a bit."

I turn back around and he pulls me against him, and that's all that's important for the next little while.

In bed, later that night, I say, "I'm glad you didn't try to come out in the storm."

"I figured you wouldn't be happy if I crashed and got myself stranded," he says. "But..."

When he drifts off, I lift my head to look at him. "But?" I ask. "But you were tempted?"

"Yeah," he says, rubbing at his chin. He's growing out his beard for winter again, and I'm glad he didn't shave it to come down. "When I realized there was no way to tell you I was okay and going to be late." He paused again, gathering his thoughts.

I wait patiently, propped up on one arm.

"I've been putting away some money, not much to spend it on," he starts slowly, which is not at all where I though this was going, "just in case."

"Okay," I say cautiously when he pauses. I can't even guess where this is heading.

"I was thinking," he continues, gaze meeting mine as he searches for something. Sometimes, I wish he'd just tell me what he was looking for so I could give it to him, "that since I can't use the sat-phone in Val's house, I could buy one for our house and smuggle it in?"

He trails off, watching me, and relaxes as he finds whatever he's looking for in my face. I love the idea, and it must show.

It's strange, dating someone who literally can't be reached unless he's visiting you. I thought I could handle it, and I am, but it's just... strange. It's strange to _want_ to be able to contact someone who isn't Diana and it's strange to not be able to. I guess in this day and age, most of us take for granted the existence of cell phones.

"I think," I finally say, "that it's a brilliant idea." I waggle my eyebrows at him, and add, "Plus: phone sex."

He laughs, and holds me close when I snuggle back down against him, murmuring, "I'm glad," into my hair, as if there had even been the slightest chance I wouldn't want to be able to talk to him in between visits.

(Phone sex, as we will find out, is not our forte.)

* * *

"Do you celebrate Christmas?" I ask the next day. People in town celebrated, and I'd bought presents for some of them, but I didn't know about Dalton.

Dalton shrugs. "Parents did, when I was younger, but once I was old enough..." He shrugs again. "You?"

I snort. My parents didn't see the point of Christmas, from a religious or secular standpoint. "We didn't. Diana did, though."

"Ah," he says, and nothing else.

Subtly is wasted on Eric sometimes, so I just ask, "Do you want to do Christmas? A present exchange?"

I have an idea, something slowly forming and coalescing into a plan. Christmas will be the perfect time to give it to him, if everything works out. Not that I'll hold it hostage if he says no, just that it'll be an excuse to procrastinate. Christmas gives me a deadline and makes it so I can't chicken out. Eric's not the only one who worries about inappropriate gift-giving, after all.

He nods, slowly, but I can't tell what he thinks about the idea. "We could do that," he says, in a tone that doesn't give me any idea either.

I have to remind myself that this is Dalton. If he doesn't want to do something, he isn't going to agree to it. Just because I tried too hard to be nice when I first came to Rockton doesn't mean he's going to start trying too hard to be agreeable now.

I let the subject drop, though. The cafe is closing, so we drop our cups and napkins in the trash and head back to the apartment.

* * *

**Mid December**

With Dalton's promise to be back for Christmas, I don't have much time to continue my search for council members. Dalton's father gave me the name of a few shell companies he'd found, and now I'm tracing them back through parent companies to, hopefully, one unifying company.

I have the names of a couple more council members — apparently Phil wasn't always the council's rep — and I'm trying to tie those to the shell companies, too. If I can...

I still don't know what I'm looking for, just that there has to be something there. Some reason for them to suddenly be so focused on getting rid of me.

Many of the companies I'm tracing through have closed, mostly for financial reasons. Or they've been sold and merged with larger companies that then close for financial reasons. The big picture I'm getting, though, is that if these companies are attached to the council in some way, then the council is hurting for money.

Or they just don't see the need to keep open companies after they've served their usefulness, and let them fall into neglect until they can be shut down. Fuck. I need more information.

* * *

**Late December**

I'm on the phone when Dalton arrives well after dark, and I quickly end the conversation with a muttered, "Fuck, I gotta go. I'll be over later."

He looks at me, curious, but when I don't say anything and pull him into a deep kiss, he doesn't ask any questions.

He falls asleep after the first round of sex, with me cuddled in his arms. Once I'm sure he's actually asleep, I slip out of his arms and quietly dress. I shush Storm when she gets up, and I'm out the door in under ten minutes.

It can't be more than forty-five minutes before I return, but the lights are on and, judging by the shadow passing in front of the light every so often, he's awake and pacing the living room.

I play it cool, though, opening the door and strolling in like I hadn't mysteriously snuck out when I should've been relishing my time with him.

"Sorry," I say. "I needed to run a quick errand and I didn't want to wake you."

I go to slip past him so I can hide the keys I just picked up, but something in his voice as he says, "An errand?" stops me.

When I turn to look at him, _really_ look at him, I realize that maybe not waking him up wasn't as good an idea as it seemed.

"Was it an errand related to the call you were on when I came in?" he asks.

It isn't accusatory, just mildly curious, so I answer with a, "Yeah," without thinking.

He nods slowly. "Okay," he says but doesn't add anything more to it, even though I wait.

"What?" I ask, finally. He can be a quiet guy, sure, but the last time he was reduced to one word sentences was... probably our last fight.

Well, fuck. If he's going to get pissed at me for leaving him for less than an hour _while he was sleeping_ on one of the few days of the month that he was here... I really don't want to spend his visit fighting, but...

He looks at me for a minute, then looks around the room. When he doesn't find whatever he's searching for, he heads for the kitchen. I sigh and follow him.

"Oh, no," I say when I see him taking down a bottle of damn tequila. "You don't get to make every hard conversation easier for you by getting drunk." I take the bottle from him and put it back. "Spill."

He stands with his back to me for a moment, then says, quiet desperation in his voice, "Please tell me you aren't sneaking around with someone behind my back. I'll understand if you want to-"

"What?" I say as I realize what he means by "sneaking around," and I grab his shoulder and turn him to face me. I hadn't known what to expect, but it certainly wasn't an accusation of cheating. "You're awful quick to jump to conclusions, there."

He winces, but says, "That's not a denial."

"For fuck's sake, Eric, no. No I am not cheating on you. Where is this even coming from? You got a little somethin'-somethin' on the side up north and-"

"No!" He looks so startled and horrified by the question that I know he's telling the truth — like I had any doubts about that in the first place — but that only makes me more pissed.

"I just-" He flounders, not looking at me, and normally I would think it's cute, but somehow my nice evening with my boyfriend has gotten off track because he thinks I'm _cheating_ on him.

"Just what?" I ask. "Have I given you any reason at all to think that I might have found someone else while I was living down here? That I'm even looking?"

He sighs and runs his hands through his hair. "No, you're right, I'm sorry. I just- You got off the phone fast when I came in, and then you disappeared, and I just-" He huffs out a breath and looks at me. "Jen's been being particularly... Jen-like lately and I guess some of the things she's been saying got under my skin. I'm sorry."

I sigh, deflating. "Fucking Jen."

"Yeah," he says, a smile flitting across his features. "Are... Are we okay?"

"Yeah," I say, stepping up to him and putting my arms around his waist, my head dipped to rest on his chest. "And I guess you're right, that was kind of suspicious of me."

"You guess?" he says, his chin dropping to rest on my shoulder. But he's teasing now, no longer sounding strained.

"Yeah, I guess," I say as I poke him in the side. "I was arranging some things for tomorrow."

It's Christmas tomorrow. Technically, he's supposed to fly back then. In actuality? He's staying at least one more day. "Engine trouble." Maybe more if no one on the council notices that he's still here. It's going to be a mini winter vacation for both of us.

"Now that I've made an ass of myself..." he says, drifting off. I grin up at him and, when he kisses me, quickly deepen it until we're both panting as we part.

"Round two?" I ask, still grinning. He doesn't answer, just lifts me and heads for the bedroom.

* * *

I'm surprisingly nervous the next morning. Is this how he felt when he got me Storm? If so, I'm much more sympathetic now.

"So, I've been thinking," I say as soon as he wakes up.

"Um, okay," he says, sitting up in bed and yawning. "Good thinking or bad thinking?"

"I don't know," I say, quick to add, "But definitely not that kind of bad thinking," when he tenses.

"Okay," he says slowly.

"So, I know that the settlers and settlements are pretty cut off from the rest of the world," I start with. He nods, and I keep going, "But I've been thinking, we're going to need a way to get to Dawson City, probably, to pick up supplies?"

I end it on a question, but he nods and I continue. "And since we probably won't be able to, say, ride back to Rockton and steal their plane..."

He laughs a little. "Right, can't be doing that. It's one of the things I've been rolling around in my head. We need something for supply runs, at least to start. I can't afford to buy a plane outright, but maybe some of the people coming could chip in and-"

I lean over and take the key ring out of the nightstand. "You might not be able to buy a plane for us, but I have enough socked away to buy _you_ a plane."

He stares, his mouth moving but no sound coming out. "You..."

I dangle the keys in front of him. "Not yet, you still need to look it over. I don't know enough about planes to tell if it's worth buying."

"How..."

"Remember Mary? You met her last time at the coffee shop. Little old lady, looks like she's never used sunscreen a day in her life?" That describes at least half the old people in town, but it's the best I can do.

He nods, and I continue. "Well she had an accident — she's mostly okay — and can't fly anymore. When I asked her what she was going to do with her plane, she, well. She said that I should buy it, because I look like a girl who would need it for adventures."

He stares for another moment, then says, "I can't ask you to just... buy a plane. It's not fair to you. I'm sure we can come up with some other-"

"Or," I say, drawing out the word, "I could buy you a plane."

"Casey," he says, serious. "I can't-"

"Look at it this way," I say, handing him the keys and getting up to get dressed. "It's a gift and it's rude to refuse a gift. So if it's a good plane — and since Mary was flying it right up until her accident, I'm pretty sure it is — then you're stuck with it."

When I turn around, he's watching me, something like awe on his face.

"Besides," I add before he can say anything, "this is making up for all the Christmas presents you've missed out on."

He laughs and gets up. "So let's go see this plane of yours."

* * *

It's a great plane. Dalton explains what he's looking for as he checks it out. Then we take it up. It's loud as hell, definitely not as smooth a ride as Rockton's, but smooth enough.

We don't go far, and one look at his shining eyes after we land tells me that this is it. He's so happy it's contagious, and I start to laugh. He twirls me around and hugs me until I swear I can feel my ribs creaking.

"I can talk to Mary," he says when he puts me down. "Work out a-"

"Nope," I say. "Sneaky, but nope. This has to be your Christmas present because I don't have a backup plan. It's this or nothing."

"Nothing is o-" he starts, but I cut him off quick.

"Still no. Unless you didn't bring me anything, in which case-" I start, but his eyes go shifty and I change direction mid-sentence "-it's no big deal, but you still have to suck it up and accept the plane."

"I can't top a plane," he blurts out and almost immediately, regret passes over his face. "Not that it's a contest, I just mean, I didn't-" He struggles to find the right words.

"It doesn't-" I try to say, trying not to be disappointed that- what? That I spent tens of thousands of dollars and he didn't? That's ridiculous. No, what I want is an equivalent amount of thought put into whatever he got for me. Like you could convert dollars to thoughtfulness, in anything but the most fucked up relationship.

"It does," he says. "This is- Fuck, I'm probably reading too much into things. Ignore me." He kisses the side of my head and tries to nudge me back to the car. "This is perfect."

I let him nudge me to the car, trying to figure out what he was reading into it that I might not mean. Finally, probably just when he thought he'd escaped having me grill him, I interrupted his story about Will and a late-for-hibernation black bear to ask.

"What were you reading into it?"

"What?" he asks, but the look in his eyes as he glances toward me is begging me not to press.

"You said you were probably reading too much into it. What were you reading into it?"

"Nothing important," he says as he pulls into the driveway.

I wait until we're in the house before saying, "You don't get that... that embarrassed over something unless it's something important."

He sputters and tries to claim he doesn't get embarrassed, much like he's tried to claim that nothing makes him feel awkward. I wait him out, and then ask, "What was it?"

"Just," he says. "You're really going to go with me."

"Yes..." I say, drawing out the word. Obviously I'm going with him. I'm not someone who says something to soothe feelings without intending to follow through anymore.

He's busying himself at the sink, filling mugs with hot water to keep them warm for the coffee he's started. "I mean, you're serious. You're not... You wouldn't be willing to spend that much on a... a spur of the moment idea."

"How is this at all spur of the moment?" I ask. "We talked about it, we sort of planned for it, and now we're going to do it. What, did you think I was talking in hypotheticals?"

"Well, no," he says, turning off the water and bracing himself on the edge of the counter. "But it's easy to say you're going to leave your life here behind. I wouldn't blame you if you decided you couldn't, or didn't want to, and just... It's easy to say it, but doing it is another thing entirely."

"Eric," I say from where I've sat at the folding table that serves as my dining table. "You know I wouldn't do that to you, right?"

"Not on purpose," he says. I can see where his knuckles are white from gripping the counter so hard. I've got a matching set, where I'm holding onto the edge of the table, like letting go would unmoor me.

"No, not _ever_." Angry isn't the right word for what I'm feeling. I'm too sad, too sympathetic to be feeling anger. But I'm definitely not happy with him. "I know when you met me I was someone who would do that. And I get that maybe you still don't really trust that-"

"I trust you," he says, turning to face me. His face falls when he glances at my hands and sees them gripping the edge of the table, but he continues. "Of course I trust you. I wouldn't leave Rockton on a hiking trip with someone I didn't trust, never mind leave Rockton permanently."

I shake my head a little, a tiny, sad half-smile on my face. "You trust me to have your back, yeah, and not put you in physical danger. But you still don't trust me to not hurt you."

"I-" he starts, his voice strangled.

I force myself to shrug and unclamp my fingers. It hurts — of course it hurts — but there's no point in taking it out on him. "It's okay," I say. "We've never been apart for this long before, and-"

"Fuck, of course I trust you, Casey," he says over me, finally getting his voice back. "But-"

"More importantly," I say over him. Two could play the interruption game, "my life was in Rockton. Not down south. I've already been forced to leave my life behind, and I can't change or fix that. Unless I wanted to oust the council and-" I break off as he gets a gleam in his eye. "No, Eric, we are not mutinying and taking over Rockton." I shouldn't laugh, but I do, and he smiles, hesitantly sitting down across from me. I stretch my legs out, hooking our ankles together.

"I swear," he says, quieter now. "I do trust you-"

"Okay," I say, not willing to continue the argument, not willing to point out that I get why he doesn't trust me not to leave him, which was why this isn't a problem usually. "This isn't how I wanted to spend Christmas."

"I know, I'm sorry. Let me-" He gets up and walks over to the knapsack he left by the door. Storm as been eyeing it ever since he got here, too well-trained to actually go digging into it, but there's clearly something she wants in there.

"I brought back venison strips for Storm," he says, pulling them out and handing the bundle to me. Storm is semi-patiently sitting next to me, eyes on the sticks. I give her one and shoo her off to go lie down and stop being underfoot.

"This is from Petra," he says, handing me a rectangle wrapped in butcher's paper. When I open it, it looks like one of the sketchbooks I'd given her. It takes me flipping through a few pages to realize what it is. Scenes from Rockton, things I'd missed since having to leave.

> _I know Eric's probably not great at keeping you up to date with what's going on here, so I figured I'd send you the most important pieces._

  
I skim through the entire thing, refusing to look up at Dalton or admit that I'm getting choked up. She must have spent ages on this. The fancy art supplies I was sending back for her, and the chocolates, weren't going to be enough.

Dalton shuffles, and says, "This one's from Will."

It's a scarf in a dark green, made of yarn a step above the stuff Dalton usually brought back. It's obviously not done by one of the people who trade knitting for anything, and I look up at Dalton.

"Yeah," he says. "I guess it got boring with only "a grumpy grizzly" for company, so he's learning how to knit. Said it keeps his hands busy."

I grin, and carefully fold the scarf back up. I love it as much as he's going to love the comic books I picked out for him.

Dalton shifts on his feet, and pulls out one last wrapped package. He hands it over silently.

"From you?" I ask, just to be a pain. It's obviously from him, just from the way he's not quite meeting my eyes.

"It isn't enough, but..." he starts and trails off. I won't dignify that with a response and tear into the paper instead.

It's a carved wooden statue, about the size of my fists held together. It's obviously Cricket, with wind in her mane and ears pricked forward, attention on something up ahead of her.

"I got Brent to make it," he says, fidgeting a little. "Figured, since we can't take her with us..."

I grin, still studying the figurine. It has her stubborn look, like she's ready to race off and is being held back, probably by me.

"It's perfect," I say when I realize he's waiting for a response. "Absolutely perfect." He's smiling at me, and I resist teasing him, knowing it's been a long morning. Instead, I gather my presents and beckon him to follow me, and to bring the coffees.

We go out to the back porch, which faces the woods, and sit on a wicker bench I'd dragged from a neighbor who wanted to get rid of it. He puts an arm around me and I snuggle into his side, opening up Petra's sketchbook to the first page. Petra had short captions on each drawing, but I'm hungry for more details about my friends, to know what they've been up to while I was... "in exile" wasn't the right phrase, but it sure felt like it sometimes.

I can see a rough outline of Dalton in the background of the picture, so I point at the page and say, "Tell me what's going on in this one."

* * *

**January**

The New Year rings in with a whiteout blizzard.

"Bit of snow coming," Cafe-Paul says when I'm buying my coffee.

"Gonna get chilly, need someone to come run a line to your woodshed?" Hardware-Store-Paul says when I come in for stakes for that exact reason.

"Better get your young man to fly in for extra warmth," Mary says, and cackles.

I thank the Pauls for their warnings and ignore Mary.

The snow just doesn't stop from there. Nearly every day gets us another dusting, at the very least. It's freezing, and the cloud cover never breaks. Two more blizzards hit before the middle of the month.

And I don't hear from Dalton.

We have a sort-of standing phone date now. At least, I never go more than a week without hearing from him. It's been almost three weeks now, and he was supposed to fly down yesterday, but the weather was probably too bad which is why he's not here now.

He's lived up there for thirty years. He's not going to be eaten by a hostile just because I'm not there. He's fine. And I just need to keep telling myself that until he shows up again.

When I was little, a feral cat lived near our house. I snuck food out to that cat every day for six months before it disappeared. I waited for that cat to come back for weeks. Just when I gave up and decided someone hit it with a car, it showed up again like it had never been gone.

(Of course, my parents found out what I was doing and the cat disappeared for good. For two weeks I was given medical reports on kids who were savaged by pet cats, people bitten by animals with rabies, pictures of people infected with the parasites cats carry. There's a reason I'm not a cat person.)

Dalton's like that. Anders and I have made plenty of jokes about it. If he walked into the woods one day and reappeared a week or two later, neither of us would be surprised by it. But... that was when I was there. It's different now.

I throw myself into tracking down the council, in hopes that keeping busy will stop me from worrying, stop me from missing him. It doesn't, but I'm able to push it more to the back of my mind, like a constant anxious ache under my breastbone.

I haven't started thinking about getting a job, not with me leaving in a few months. I'm regretting it now, though. This would be so much easier with access to police resources. As much as I enjoyed having to do things the old fashioned way in Rockton, this isn't like that.

It's not that I have a limited amount of time before I need to have answers, and it's not like I have people's lives in my hands. Except for how, if I'm right, I kind of am.

When I met with him, I asked Dalton's father to look into some things for me. The new guy in Dalton, Ricky. His story is that he's an investment banker who looking at doing time for insider trading. I didn't know how much the council charged him to be able to come to Rockton, but he hinted that it was sizable.

I'm not so sure that his story is true. In searching, I find plenty of Rickys who are investment bankers, plenty who could have been on the hook for insider trading. None of them seem to match our Ricky, though.

So I asked Dalton's father to look into him more and gave him my cell number. Now I just have to wait for his call and keep investigating the shell companies.

I can feel that I'm getting closer to finding the one company that ties them all together, because it's getting harder to get people on the phone and to get answers out of them when I do. It's looking like I'm going to need to start doing a bit of travel to shake some answers out of people in person. Which I can't do until Dalton shows up, so he doesn't get here and have me gone.

I hope Storm's not the sort of dog who gets carsick. I can't ask Paul to watch her again for an extended period of time, like I'd need.

"Looks like we're going on a road trip, girl," I murmur to her as I shut down my laptop for the night. She thumps her tail on the ground briefly before getting up to go sit by the door, waiting for me to come over with her leash.

We stroll toward the center of town, barely half a kilometer away. Storm has gotten huge, even though she's still a puppy. I didn't realize how fast dogs grow. If Jacob thought she looked like a bear cub before, he'd think she was a half-grown black bear now.

If Dalton were here, he'd tell me that she's nowhere close to being the size of a half-grown black bear and then go off on an entire discussion of the black bear life cycle. Unprompted, even, now that he knows I'm interested in things like that.

Fuck, I miss him.

The next morning brings more snow, no Dalton, and no message from Dalton's father. It does, however, bring a ping on one of my searches from sometime after I went to bed.

One of the corporations has traced back to what looks like a company that... buys and trades other companies, like a giant shell game of probably money laundering. Great. Organized crime better not be involved.

I open their employee page, not expecting to find anything useful. Except right there, with the label "Corporate Relations", is a man named Phil. And a phone number.

I make a note of it, not quite sure what I want to do with it yet. I know they're up to something, but I don't have anything I can use against them. "Tell me or I'm going to expose Rockton," is an empty threat. They know I'd never do that to Dalton.

Plus, I know that the odds of it being true are slim, but Sutherland's ranting about the council and what they do to people they have to send back... It's gotten under my skin.

* * *

**Early February**

"The fucking council took away my fucking phone. Said it was a fucking security risk," were the first words out of Dalton's mouth when I opened the door.

I knew it had to be him — the only reason I'd open a door at two in the morning outside of Rockton was if I knew who was behind it — but still. The wave of relief leaves me almost woozy, and I drag him into a tight hug as he's saying, "And then the fucking snow, and Val wasn't fucking letting me use that phone."

"Lousy time for her to grow a spine, huh?" I say, half laughing. He squeezes me until I can feel my ribs creaking, then nudges me inside, out of the wind.

"God damn security risk," he mutters, stomping snow off his feet on the welcome mat in the front hall. He looks up at me, a soft smile full of love and delight crossing his face. I'm never going to get over having that look sent my way. He jerks his head toward the window — and the outside. "You okay?"

"Yeah," I say. "One of the neighbors plows for me. Way easier than shoveling." I grin before asking, "You?"

His eyes slide away for the briefest instant, and he says, "Yeah."

That's a lie, but I don't press. He'll tell me when he's ready if it's something I need to know. I like to think that if it's bothering him, it's something I need to know, but that's not necessarily true. At least, he won't see it that way.

As we're heading for the bedroom — it's late, after all, and as much as I'm relieved to see him, I'm exhausted — I notice that he's walking with a limp. Not a big one, but still, something's clearly wrong with his left leg. The only thing I could think of that he'd do and not tell me about was step in a damn snare again and twist his ankle. It was a ridiculous injury, and he'd known it at the time.

"Get caught in another trap?" I ask, nodding to his leg. I catch his guilty look just before I pull my shirt over my head. Knew it.

"The cougar came sniffing around," he says.

My head snaps up, and I leave my jeans tangled around my ankles. He says it like it's no big deal, like the cougar wasn't the one thing that genuinely scared almost everyone out here.

"The cougar?" I repeat.

"Yup," he says. He's nearly naked, down to underwear, and I don't see anything that would be causing a limp. When he sees me looking, he sighs and tugs down his underwear, revealing a distressingly large white bandage.

"It's not as bad as it looks," he says, and adds, "And I shot it. Everyone was pretty hap-"

I'm already gently peeling back the tape, only half listening, and interrupt him with, "_This_ is not bad?"

"Never said that," he says under his breath.

"Christ, Eric." There are deep scores in his skin, stitches the only thing holding the flesh over his hip together. My voice is shaky when I say, "I leave for barely three months and you get bored and just have to take on a cougar by yourself?"

"Will was with me," he says. "I'm okay, Casey. No one has to worry about the cat anymore, either. If I'm leaving, I want..."

He trails off, and I bite my lip, straightening. "Still time to change your mind," I say.

"Not really," he says. He sits on the side of the bed and pulls me down with him. "I told the council I'm leaving. They're looking for a replacement." He pauses for a moment, then smiles ruefully. "I think they're thinking it's like last time."

"Good thing you're not bluffing," I say. And, since anything that makes him more comfortable leaving Rockton is good, I add, "And good thing you got the cougar."

"Yeah," he says. "We've got almost everyone in essential services coming with us."

"And Petra," I say. I don't think he'd cut her off the list for not being "essential", but I don't want him to think it's something that I wouldn't notice. Just in case.

"And Petra," he agrees. "And Kenny. And..." He pauses and I wait him out. Finally, he looks at me, meets my eyes. "Someone told Jen. She wants to come."

I sputter out a laugh. That's- "Jen? Really? Pull the other one, Eric. Of all the people in Rockton, the only one _less_ likely to want to come is Val."

He's silent for a long moment, long enough for me to prod him and say, "...Val doesn't want to come, right?"

There's another moment, and then he smiles at me and laughs. "Nah, I'm just messing with you."

"Oh thank god," I say, flopping back on the bed and closing my eyes. "I don't know if I could handle Val _or_ Jen wanting-"

"I was kidding about Val, not Jen."

I open my eyes slowly and raise my head so I can stare at him and not the ceiling. "What."

"That's what I said," he says. "I told her I didn't know what she was talking about. Figured I should talk to you before I did anything."

I prop myself up on my elbows. "Do... Do you want to let her come?" I ask.

My thoughts are spinning as I try to figure out _why_ he would want her to come. She doesn't provide any essential — or even useful — services. She hates him only slightly less than she hates me. And she's never seemed the type to want to live even further from civilization.

"Fuck no," he says. "But if you thought we should... Well, I'd at least hear you out."

I laugh and lay back down. "I think that'll be a "fuck no" on all accounts, Sheriff. Although I appreciate that you'd hear me out."

"Figured you would." He climbs over me, wincing, and flips the blankets piled on his side of the bed over my head. I squawk and sit up, giving him room to lay down.

He waits until the bedside lamp is off and I'm under the covers, snuggled up to him. Then he says, "Still haven't gotten an answer from Jacob."

"At least he hasn't said no yet," I say. "He still might..."

"Yeah," he says. "I know it's not fair to ask him to move away from, well, everything he's ever known. I just..."

"Don't want to abandon him again?" I ask. "You're not, you know. You might be leaving, but you're not just disappearing."

"Yeah," he says, and I can tell he's not convinced. "We can talk about it in the morning."

He pulls me a little closer, and I close my eyes. Within seconds, I'm back asleep.

Dalton is out with Storm the next morning when his father calls me with information about Ricky.

"Now, I don't know for sure this is the man you're after," he says. "But there's a Michael Rickson, investment banker out of Quebec. He was a suspect for a string of murders in the area. He disappeared before any formal charges were filed."

He pauses, then adds, "Real nasty fucker. You got an email I can send this stuff to?"

I rattle off my email address as Dalton comes back in the door, stomping snow off his boots and talking quietly to Storm.

"Eric's here," I say quietly. "You want to talk to him?"

There's a long silence, during which Storm comes clicking into the room on Dalton's heels, tail wagging furiously. She sticks to him like glue whenever he comes to visit. It almost makes me feel like a bad person for not letting her stay up north with him. Almost.

"Nah," his father says. "I got stuff to do."

It's one of the flimsiest excuses I've ever heard, but I don't press. As much as I want to get to know him because he's a part of Dalton's family, he's a virtual stranger.

We say our goodbyes and I hang up. Dalton's watching me, a question in his eyes that he's not going to ask out loud. I know I should ignore it, because I'm pretty sure contacting his father without him knowing it was way overstepping, but...

But there's a potential serial killer in Rockton. Not someone who went north and snapped, like Beth, someone who had presumably already committed a series of violent crimes before being allowed in. That's not the sort of person that Dalton would let into Rockton, which means he has no idea that they're in danger.

"Your father," I say, bending down to rough up Storm's fur so I don't have to look him in the eye.

"My father," he says slowly. "He... found your number?"

"Not exactly," I say. I stand up. His face is blank, his shoulders tense. "I needed some help finding some information and-"

"How did you even find him?" he asks. "I..."

I want to protest and tell him that it's not a big deal, that he's overreacting. But I can't. He never expressed any interest in me meeting, or even talking to his, father. Which can only mean that he doesn't want me having contact with him.

"I didn't tell him anything about us," I say, like that's the problem.

"Fuck, Casey," Dalton says, turning away. "You think that's the problem?"

"No," I have to admit. I squash the urge to go around him so I can see his face again. "I'm sorry for going behind your back. I couldn't wait, though. I needed to talk to someone with his connections."

He goes to take a breath, and I barrel right over him.

"There's something wrong with the council," I say. His shoulders tighten more as he looks back at me. "I had the suspicion when they kicked me out for no reason." He nods, slow and thoughtful. "I was just spinning my wheels on figuring out why, so I needed your father's help to get me information."

"You could've-" he starts, and then stops. "When did you find him?"

I make a face. "We met in November. He's been keeping me updated since then."

Dalton stares at me. "And you didn't think to mention at any point that you were talking to my father."

It's not a question.

"I..." I start, then stop. I can't apologize, not the way he wants, because I'm not sorry. I needed information, so I got information. Instead, I blurt out, "I don't want you to have to leave Rockton."

"What?" he asks.

"It's bullshit," I say, "and there's something going on with the council. It isn't fair to ask you to upend your life."

"I thought we talked about this," he says, but I keep going over him.

"I know you'd do it, and if it comes to that we will, but there's got to be some way to stay."

My phone dings with an email. I take it out of my pocket and open the email, even though we're in the middle of a conversation.

"Fuck," I breathe, and Dalton immediately goes from edging toward anger to concern. I turn my phone to face him. "Does that look like Ricky to you?"

The picture isn't clear, but it looks like they have the same profile, the same nondescript hair, and the same build.

"Yeah, but-" he stops. "Shit, is this another one of the council's-"

"Even worse," I say. I pull up the news article links that his father sent along. "The council let a serial killer into Rockton."


	2. Chapter 2

Dalton stares at me. He keeps opening his mouth to say something, and closing it when the words won't come. Finally, he mutters, "Fuck."

"Yeah," I say. "No one's missing, right?"

He shakes his head, then stops, frowning. "The cougar did get one of the greenhouse workers." A look of shame passes over his face. The cougar must have been closer to Rockton than I thought.

Dalton feels that if people are stupid enough to go out into the woods alone, or ignore warning signs there are dangerous animals around, then they get what's coming to them. But if the cougar made it close enough to Rockton... But that doesn't make sense. If it were rabid, Dalton wouldn't be here, not with wounds that fresh. What else would bring a cougar close enough to Rockton that Dalton would feel it's his fault?

"Just how close was this cougar?" I ask.

"Edge of town," he says, looking away. He goes to sit on the couch, then changes his mind and comes back to stand by me, restless.

"Is," I start, then pause to gather my thoughts while he watches me, brow drawn. "Is it possible," I finally continue, "that the person was killed, and then the cougar lured here to make it look like an animal attack?"

"Dangerous," he says, "but possible." He runs a hand through his hair, and finally sits heavily on the couch. "Fuck."

"Yeah," I say again and echo him. "Fuck."

It should be a relief — as much as finding out there's a serial killer living in your midst can ever be a relief — that we've done this before. This isn't our first serial killer in Rockton, and it probably won't be our last if the council continues to handle who gets in and who doesn't.

"Why would they-" he starts but breaks off with a shake of his head. "Stupid question. It's fucking money, isn't it?" He doesn't wait for me to answer. "I need to go back and call Phil."

"Mm," I say, noncommittal.

"I'm sorry," he says, looking up at me with genuine anguish in his eyes. "I-"

"No, I understand," I say, because I do. If- When we move permanently out of Rockton, then it will stop being the most important thing in Dalton's life. Until then? But I might have an ace up my sleeve. "But I think I found Phil."

Dalton stares at me, again, eyes wide. Then they narrow into slits and he says, "What are you doing, Casey?"

"Well." I go sit next to him, leaning into his side. He puts an arm around me, but still half-turns to so he can look at me. "I _might_ have started tracking down council members."

"You _what_?" he says. His fingers dig into my arm for a moment before he visibly forces himself to relax. "Do you know how dangerous that is?"

"No," I say, truthfully. Sure, they have his father's phone tapped, but it doesn't seem like they're doing anything with the information. Other than using it to bait Dalton on occasion. "But no one's come after me yet. I'm just asking questions."

He sighs and says, "If there's one thing I know about rich people, it's that they don't take kindly to people being up in their business."

I scoff. "What are they gonna do? Threaten me with, what? Throwing you out of Rockton, too? I think we have that covered."

He made a noise then slowly said, quiet and slow, "You already said it. They could send someone after you."

I snort out a laugh. "We're not in a thriller novel, Eric. Do you know how hard it is to hire hitmen in this day and age?"

"Nope," he says, "but I don't want to risk it. I couldn't..." He drifts off, but I have some idea about what he's trying to say.

"I'm just asking some questions," I say. "And if they send someone after me, I have a guard dog." I turn to pat Storm on the head and get slobbered on for my trouble. "Gross." When I turn back, Dalton's staring off into the distance. I manage to catch his eye and say, "We both know that we can't just leave if we're going to be leaving people in danger."

He doesn't say anything in response to that, doesn't try to deny it.

"I just want to talk to them," I say softly. "See if there's anything we can do to... convince them to stop sending violent criminals when there's plenty of white collar guys itching for a place to hide."

"I don't like this," he finally says. "You know that, right?"

I nod. "I know, but I can't not." There's something big here, something that I can't quite see. Something that I need to figure out.

I can see that he's troubled, worried, from the way he's fidgeting and keeps almost-clenching my arm before loosening his hold. There's nothing I can do to soothe him, though. I need to do this, and he needs to accept that.

"Casey..." he starts, but drifts off without saying more than my name. He's tense, worrying about something.

I give him time to collect his thoughts, waiting for him to continue. When it doesn't look like he's going to, I ask, "What?"

He shakes his head. "Nothing, I-" He pauses again. "I don't know what I'd do if you..."

I tilt my head up to kiss him, and just say, "Me too."

He shivers a little. "Be careful, okay?"

"Always am," I say, and punch his shoulder when he laughs in disbelief. "Fine, _sometimes_ am. But I will be this time. And you better be careful too. A serial killer isn't a joke."

He pulls me closer, kisses my temple. "I promise," he says. I believe him.

* * *

**Mid February**

Believing that Dalton would be careful was a mistake.

I expect him to be back in town soon, to deliver the potential serial killer to the cops. As the days go by, I get more and more nervous. How long does it take to go, cuff a man, and bring him back to civilization?

When my phone rings, I'm expecting Dalton, not Val. As soon as I hear her voice, my stomach plummets.

"Sheriff Dalton is hurt," she says, her voice shaking a little. "There was... an incident."

"A human incident?" I ask, praying that she's going to say no, that it's another animal attack.

"Yes. He's... Deputy Anders..."

"It's bad," I cut in to say. "Bad like he needs to be airlifted out of there?"

"We can't-"

"Yeah, I know," I say. My mind is racing. The only way to get him out is to take him on the town's plane, and that's a rough enough ride that it could just make his injuries worse, and-

"I've requested permission from the council to have you flown in," she says. The first place my brain goes to at that is that he's dying. That it's bad enough they think he's not going to make it.

"I want to talk to Anders," I say.

"Yes, of course," Val says. "I'll send someone to fetch him."

There's murmuring that I can't quite catch, and then she continues with, "You know who it was."

It isn't a question. Dalton must have told her about Ricky before he went after him. God, if Ricky overheard and got the jump on him-

"Yeah," I say, shaking my head a little, like I can get rid of my thoughts the same as a swarm of flies. They're more like black flies, though, scattering for an instant only to return, nastier than ever. I hadn't thought that I was sending him into a situation that could be all that dangerous. He's good at his job, this shouldn't've been a big deal.

But it is a big deal now.

"What happened to Ricky," I ask. If he's still out there, I need to be out there. If he's taken off and is hiding in the forest somewhere, Anders isn't going to be able to find him. There's no one in town that can track as well as Dalton, and he's spent months teaching me. I'm not great, maybe not even good, but I don't think there's anyone else in town that's even as good as me.

There's a drawn out silence before Val says, "He's not here."

"And what does "not here" mean?" I ask, trying to reign in my impatience.

"He's disappeared. We have the militia searching the town for him, but-" Her voice is shaking again.

Fuck. "I need to be there," I say. "If he's not in town, if the militia doesn't-" A thought strikes me. "Someone's guarding Eric, right?"

There's a long pause.

"Fuck." I'm not going to panic. I'm just going to deal with this. "You need to get someone on that, and you need to get someone in that plane, on the way to pick me up, _now_."

"The council-" Val starts, but I don't let her get any further than that.

"Fuck the council," I say. "Do you really want a serial killer running around outside Rockton? There are no walls to keep him out." I know I'm preying on her experiences with hostiles, but I can't bring myself to feel bad about it. "He-"

"I understand," she says before I can go on. "I'll find someone to send."

"Good," I say. I want to ask more about Dalton, but I don't. I don't even give her a chance to say anything more, I just hang up. Storm is whining at my feet, sensing that something is wrong, while I press the heels of my hands to my eyes for a long moment.

* * *

My first instinct is to go see Dalton, make sure he's okay and let him know I'm here. But Anders points out that if I do that, he's going to insist on coming with us on the hunt for Ricky.

"And he can't do that, Casey. I mean, physically. If he gets out of that bed and tears those stitches, he's going to bleed out before he hits the forest."

"Not exactly comforting, Will," I say, gritting my teeth over the whole thing. We're standing by the plane, not even in town yet.

"I'm not trying to be," he says. "Look, we know Ricky's not in town. He headed into the woods and we've got all the buildings on lockdown as much as we can. Kenny's with Eric right now, so he's safe. We need to find this guy."

"I know," I say. "I know. If you're one hundred percent sure he's not in town, just take me to where he was seen entering the woods."

That will have to be good enough.

We track around the town, just inside the trees, until Anders stops and points up ahead. "It's around there, somewhere."

It's easy to see where someone entered the forest up ahead. There's plenty of signs — broken vegetation and, of course, deep footprints in the snow — and the trail leads us in an almost straight line away from Rockton.

I'm grateful that the guy doesn't have any wilderness survival skills like Dalton's been instilling in me. He's leaving a trail a mile wide, at least for now. For a while, it looks like we're headed for the one of the main trails, at which point we'll lose him. I can feel myself getting tenser and tenser as we near it, and I glance back at Anders to see him just as tense as I am.

Luckily, Ricky's trail takes a sudden, sharp left turn, veering away from the groomed trail and further into the woods.

"Do you think he heard people and didn't want to run into them?" Anders asks quietly. I can only shrug in reply. The trail seems to be running parallel to the main trail now, keeping it almost visible through the trees. Why would he be staying off the path? Did he think he could get through these woods without Dalton tracking him? It would be much safer to stay on the main trail, and cut off it somewhere a few kilometers from town.

Twilight is swiftly falling and it's getting colder. We're going to need to turn back soon. Neither of us thought to bring anything that would keep us alive in the woods for more than a few hours. I want to rush forward, like I can find the end of his trail if I just push hard enough, but Ricky's had more than a day to get out here. What we really need is a manhunt, and we can't do that without leaving the town unguarded.

What the fuck was the council thinking, when they let him in? It's the first thing I'm going to ask when I find them, right before I throttle whoever I'm talking to. Maybe Phil. Phil needs a good throttling.

"Casey..." Anders says, voice low in warning.

"I know," I say, my gloved hands curling into fists. "I know, okay? But he's out there somewhere and the longer we don't find him the more chance he has to- To..."

What can he really do? He can come back to Rockton and try to terrorize the people there. He can die out here, alone and away from anyone he could hurt. Unless he finds a settler. Or one of the settlements.

Shit. Jacob.

Jacob is the wrong gender, wrong build, and wrong hair color to fit the victim profile, but that didn't mean anything. When an animal's cornered, it'll fight. And, while Jacob probably wouldn't even try to interact, just come tell Dalton one of his townspeople was lost, I don't want to take that chance.

"We need to get Jacob," I say. I know how to contact him with what amounts to a flag on a tree, but he won't see it until tomorrow at the earliest.

"Yeah," Anders says. "Dalton had me put up his cloth yesterday, but I haven't seen him anywhere."

"Maybe now that it's not just you, he'll show up," I say. I don't mean it to be mean, but Anders flinches anyway. It's just that Jacob isn't really a people person. I've been making inroads because of my relationship with Dalton and my need to get what's left of his family to approve of me. But Anders? Jacob barely knows him. There's no guarantee he would show up if it's just Anders.

I'm trying not to think about the other reason why Jacob might not have come near town. Why he might not have even seen the cloth.

My mind is too occupied, and I let my guard down at the wrong time. With a shout, I slip and start to tumble down a hill. Anders yells my name, and I can hear him hurrying after me, but I'm suddenly free-falling. When I land, all the air is forced out of my lungs in a rush. All I can do is lay there, gasping.

A gloved hand swims into my vision, and I grab it, gasping out, "Thanks, Anders" as he pulls me to my feet.

He doesn't stop, though, and too fast for my swimming head to comprehend, my arm is twisted behind my back and I'm being forced to start walking away from the short cliff.

"What the he-" I stop, my brain finally catching up to my predicament. This isn't Anders that has me. "...Cypher?" I ask, because while that wouldn't be ideal, I could at least reason with Ty Cypher a little bit, crazy as he is.

The laugh behind me isn't Cypher's laugh. Ricky has my arm twisted too high to risk trying to get out of his hold without dislocating my shoulder. We're moving at a good clip, too, even though my legs don't feel like they're quite working right yet.

I realize I can't hear Anders calling my name anymore.

"What do you want?" I ask, intentionally starting to drag my feet more, as though I'm having more trouble walking than I really am. It's not hard to fake, though, easy enough that I'm worried about a concussion.

He doesn't answer me, just forces me to march on, occasionally changing direction, before we come out into a little clearing up against a rock face. There's a big hole, the entrance to a cave, and we're heading for it.

"I'm not going in there," I say immediately. Dalton warned all of us about the dangers of caves with large openings. Namely: if an animal can get through it to make a home, it will. This cave is big enough for a grizzly. The last thing I want is to get eaten, by anyone.

"Yes, you are," Ricky says, voice even like there's not a question about what I will or won't do.

"I'm not getting eaten by a bear," I say and he scoffs.

"There aren't any bears in there, I checked."

"That's nice," I say, planting my feet. If I can just get him arguing, I can stall for time and Anders will come help me. Two against one is a much fairer fight than what it is now. "I'm still not going in there."

He pushes aside my hair, not saying anything, and I suddenly feel a tongue on my neck, licking in a long stripe up to my ear. I shudder in disgust.

"Yes, you are," he says into my ear, "or I'm going to dislocate both your shoulders. And still drag you in there."

I still can't hear Anders, and Ricky's pushing me forward again, making me stumble.

Once we're inside the cave, he doesn't let me go, just pushes me face-first against the wall, his free hand coming around and sliding up underneath my coat and shirt. At some point, he's ripped off his glove, and his hand is freezing.

I try to kick back and get my foot around his leg to trip him up, but he's at just the wrong angle.

"Uh uh, none of that," he says. His hand disappears for a moment, then I can feel the point of a knife pressing against my back. He sliced through my coat. I wasn't mad before, but now I am. I _liked_ this coat.

He liked to cut up his victims. That's what I remember most from the police reports. He liked to flay their skin with knives and dismember them before disposing of the body parts.

Today is _not_ a good day to die.

I can't see a way out of this that doesn't involve a dislocated shoulder, unless I wait for Anders. And, as the knife point begins to press more deeply into my back and Ricky's breathing starts to speed up, I know that I can't wait for him. I don't want any more scars.

I can feel my shoulder pop with a screaming pain as I twist around, elbowing him in the ribs with my other arm. He lets go and stumbles back far enough that I lash a foot out and hit him square in the nuts. He drops like a sack of bricks.

The scuffle to get his knife is short but brutal. When I'm done, his arms are pinned behind his back underneath my knee, and his knife is at his throat. I don't think he was expecting me to fight back as successfully as I did. I don't think most people would see a dislocated shoulder as a minor inconvenience.

But damn, does it hurt.

Will comes scrambling into the cave, a flashlight lighting up the interior further than the setting sun did. Far enough for me to see a big shaggy brown hump near the back of the cave. It's only a few feet away from us, and it's a miracle the fighting hadn't woken it up.

"Fuck," Will breathes out, before focusing on me and Ricky, who's gone from shocked stillness at the sight of the sleeping grizzly to struggling hard enough that his knife cuts a line in his throat. It's all I can do to keep him pinned down.

"Little help here?" I grit out between clenched teeth, grunting in pain as my shoulder is jostled.

Will takes out cable ties and grabs Ricky, quickly pulling them tight around his wrists. It doesn't stop his struggling, and I'm afraid he's going to manage to throw Will off and escape, hands tied or no. So I grab his hair in my fist and crack his head against the ground, the quickest way to get anyone's attention. He starts to howl when his nose crunches. I jerk his head back up and slap a hand over his mouth.

"If you don't shut up and stop struggling," I whisper, "we're going to tie you up and leave you here."

"This is police brutality," he hisses through the blood covering his face.

"If you think we got police up here, you haven't been paying attention," Will says as he jerks Ricky to his feet. "Casey's the closest thing to a cop and does it look like she cares about beating the shit outta you and leaving you here for that bear?"

He doesn't respond, just casts a mulish look my way. That's fine with me.

"You got him?" I ask Will. My fingers are starting to buzz and go numb. Not a good sign. "I need to reset my shoulder."

"You need to-" He takes a good look at me, and then looks at Ricky. "Aw man, Eric's going to kill me when he finds out about this."

"It can be our little secret," I say, glancing over to the bear. It hasn't moved, its side rising and falling with steady breaths.

I grit my teeth. We're a two, maybe three hour walk from town. It's getting darker by the second and a wind is picking up. We should've brought an ATV. If it started snowing...

I lean to the side, letting my arm hang down, and start rotating my torso and shoulder. If this doesn't work, I'm going to need to take a run at the cave wall, and nobody wants that. The only other methods I know to relocate a shoulder involve other people helping, and there's no way I'm trusting Ricky to stay while Anders helps me.

When I'm almost bent in half backward, my shoulder pops back into its socket with a disconcerting clunking feeling and a fresh burst of pain. I breathe out slowly and straighten, to see Anders and Ricky both staring at me.

"What?" I ask. "Police academy was rough."

"Uh, yeah. Rough," Anders says, then shakes his head like he's coming out of a stupor. "Eric's a lucky man," he mutters to himself.

"Shut up," I say, coloring slightly as I realize he's talking about flexibility and not my skill at fixing myself.

I have Ricky's knife, and a gun, so I'm in back where, if he tries to run, he can't easily grab me either. Not that he could anyway with his hands tied behind his back like that, but it's better to be safe than sorry. Anders is up front, plowing a path through the snow to us, following my directions to get us back to the main trail.

Anders takes Ricky's elbow as we go through town, a harsh grip steering him around people. It's not until we get to the cell in the back of the station that he begins to struggle again.

"I have _rights_," he yells, after we lock him in the cell. "You can't do this! I-"

"Americans," Anders mutters, making me laugh as we shut the door behind us and leave the station.

"Aren't you one of those?" I nudge him in the ribs with my elbow, and he fakes a wince before looking back toward the station.

"Not like that."

I sober as we move toward the makeshift medical building we have. Anders matches my expression. I hadn't had time to think about Dalton while I was chasing Ricky through the woods, but now he's all I can think about.

I haven't asked anything about his condition since getting on the plane. I needed to be focused on tracking Ricky down, not worrying over the details of Dalton's injury. Injuries? I don't know. Somehow, at the time, worrying about the unknown seemed better than specifics. I'm regretting that now, as we walk to ward the medical building.

There's no one out on the streets, which is unusual for Rockton at this time of night. I can hear people in the Lion, but everything seems... subdued might be the right word. Not a single person stops to say hi as we walk.

"How bad is it?" I ask in a low voice, stopping Anders on the front step.

"It's, well..." Anders starts, before hesitating. "It's... probably not as bad as you're imagining, but... It's not good, Casey."

I don't have patience for this hedging around the truth. "Just give it to me straight," I say. "Come on, Will, details. Before I go in there, I need..."

"Yeah, okay," he says when I trail off. "Ricky got the drop on him. He's still got a pretty bad concussion, a fractured right ulna, fractured right tibia, half a dozen fractured ribs, a couple minor stab wounds, and a stab wound that just missed his lungs and heart."

"Oh, is that all?" I say, laughing faintly. He's going to be down for a while. And pissed about it, I bet. Something in my stomach has clenched, and I feel like I'm not quite understanding something big.

"You okay?" Anders asks. I realize he has a hand on my shoulder and shrug it off.

"I'm fine," I say. "Thanks. I'm going in."

It takes me another moment to make my feet follow my directions. Anders follows me in and bumps into me, jostling me another couple steps forward, when I stop short.

Dalton doesn't look small in the bed like so many people say about loved ones in the hospital. But he does look washed out, pale and strangely gaunt. Not at all the man who stood there a week ago and promised to be careful.

I breathe out a long, slow breath and move forward, to his bedside. The blanket is pulled up over him, rising and falling with every inhale and exhale.

"We really need to get a doctor up here," I murmur. Anders snorts out a harsh laugh but doesn't disagree.

Dalton doesn't open his eyes, doesn't wake up enough to realize I'm there before going back to sleep, doesn't stir at all. If I couldn't see him breathing, I'd think he was dead. Is this how he felt all those times I've almost died while I'm up here? It's not a good feeling.

His arm and leg are already immobilized. The bandage on the chest wound looks sterile and white and, most of all, clean like he isn't bleeding anymore. A good sign. There are a few other bandages, scattered across his torso, defensive wounds on his arms.

"How many stitches?" I ask. It seems vitally important in the moment.

"Fifty six," Anders says. He's still in the doorway, a respectful distance away. It's just making me feel like I'm a mourner at a funeral, or, even worse, a family member identifying a victim.

I let out another shaky breath. "Well I've still got him beat at least."

Anders laughs. He comes into the room, checking Dalton over like I just had. Except he actually knows what he's doing and looking for.

"You must have him on some pretty good pain meds," I say. There's a chair by his- by the bedside. I sit in it and rest my arm in my lap. The ache from the dislocated shoulder is making itself known again.

"Only the best painkillers for the boss," Anders says. "And you should take something for that shoulder."

"I'm fine," I say automatically, then grimace and shake my head. "No, some ibuprofen would be good."

"Want me to take a look at it?"

I strip off my shirt, wincing as I have to move my shoulder. Anders drops a couple pills into my hand, and gives me a glass of water. He pokes and prods, drawing winces and grimaces out of me when he hits particularly tender spots.

"Didn't think I'd wake up to see my deputy making time with my detective," Dalton's voice rasps from beside me.

"Did you really just say 'making time'?" I ask through my grin, spinning in the chair to face him.

He stares at me for a long moment, a soft smile on his face, then says, "Will, what'd you give me?"

"Just morphine, boss," Will says. "Don't worry, we'll have you addicted in no time."

Dalton goes to reach out and grimaces as he tries to move his right arm. He looks at it, absolutely mystified, for a moment, then reaches out with his other arm. I catch his hand and press a kiss to his palm.

"Oh," he says. "You're here."

"Yeah." I'm laughing through what feels suspiciously like tears. "Heard you brought your fists to a knife fight. Don't you know you're not supposed to do that?"

He doesn't answer, too busy staring at me like, well. Like I'm the best thing he's ever seen. Like he's awed to even be in my presence. It'd be heady, if he weren't so high on painkillers he could barely keep his eyes open.

"I'm gonna sleep again now," he says, his eyes closing and hand dropping. I catch it and lay it back on the bed beside him, making sure he's comfortable.

"You do that," I say, leaning close to press a kiss to his forehead. "Just as long as you wake up again."

I look up to see Anders left at some point, giving us privacy. All I want is to stay by Dalton's side, be there when he wakes up and maybe even yell at him for getting hurt in the first place. I don't have a duty to this town anymore. The council sent me home, and so that's that. They don't need me.

Except I'll always feel a duty toward Rockton, stronger than I've felt any duty ever before. The people need more than the militia prowling around, and it isn't fair to expect Anders to shoulder that burden alone.

So I push to my feet and go to find him, find out what I can do. I've already caught Ricky, and I don't like feeling at loose ends. It's going to be a long night after a long day. I don't even know if the council authorized me to be here, or if Anders said fuck it and overrode them. It could be days before I get to really sleep again, so Anders better have coffee brewing at the station.

With one last look back at Dalton, I leave.

* * *

I spend the night at Dalton's side, alternating between dozing in the chair and watching him. The painkillers keeps him under, so still that I keep wanting to hold a mirror in front of his face to make sure he's still breathing.

Morning comes with Anders shaking me awake to bring me to talk to the council. They want me out of Rockton. I can't help but remember Cypher and how they wanted to hire him for undisclosed reasons. And I can't help but wonder how far they plan on going to stop my investigation into them.

I don't back down that easy.

I think I'm going to have to argue or hide myself somewhere in town so that I don't have to leave. But Anders very calmly eviscerates all of their reasons why I need to be gone. He's absolutely right when he points out that they need more than just him to run the town while Dalton's out of commission. That the detective they promised as my replacement has yet to appear.

They're grudging, but they grant me a stay of execution. I won't have to leave Rockton until Dalton can take over again.

I don't run back to the medical building. I force myself to take measured steps, breathe slowly, and ignore the looks Anders keep shooting my way. I say hello to the people we pass, and even stop to chat with Kenny, who's standing guard on the front step.

I couldn't tell you what we talked about if my life depended on it.

Jen is sitting inside with Dalton. I try not to stiffen at that, but judging by the look she gives me, I fail. Anders shuffles her outside before she can open her mouth, leaving me alone with Dalton.

"You better not die," I say as I drop into the chair like I'm a deer and a hunter just got the perfect shot.

I don't whisper it, but I'm still surprised when he mumbles, "'m not planning on it."

"You're awake," I say, then curse myself silently. Yes, thank you for that brilliant observation. He is, in fact, awake, and probably knows that.

"'m not," he says, his eyes cracking open blearily, face taught with pain. He takes a breath and winces, the motion clearly aggravating his chest wound. "Council kicked you out, remember?"

It takes me a minute, but then I laugh. "Do you think you're hallucinating right now?"

He frowns, and doesn't reply.

"Aw," I say. I'm not really kidding when I follow it up with, "That's the sweetest thing anyone's ever said to me."

"C'n top it," he says, his eyes closing again. "Just..."

He drifts back off into sleep, a slight frown marring his features. My chest is full of warmth at the idea that he'd miss me so much he'd hallucinate me, with help from the pain meds. I don't think I've ever stayed in a relationship long enough for someone to _miss_ me like that when I'm not there.

Still, when he's more lucid, I'm never going to let him live this down.

* * *

Storm is with Petra. I couldn't leave her with Mary, not without knowing how long I was going to be gone. I didn't _want_ to leave her with Mary. If Dalton was in worse condition than they were saying, I was going to need her with me.

It's strange, feeling a need for, well, anything. I kept myself apart from everything down south, protecting myself. I didn't think I had any soft, squishy parts left in my heart for anyone but Diana.

I'm so glad I was wrong, even as this anxiety over Dalton fills me.

"It's me," I say when I knock on Petra's door. I can hear Storm inside, galloping around like an elephant, probably playing with something Petra gave her.

Petra opens the door with a smile and a hug. "Sorry, Casey," she says as she steps back to let me. "I can't give you back Storm. We've formed a lifelong bond over venison and rag toys."

"Is your admirer still giving you... art?" I ask, kneeling down to hug Storm and bury my face in her ruff, letting out a shuddering breath.

Petra laughs. "Unfortunately. How's the sheriff doing?"

I don't know how to answer that. How's he doing? Well it looks like being alive is painful even though the painkillers; it looks like he went a round with a bear and lost; it looks like I almost lost him. I don't think any of those will go over well.

Instead, I make a non-committal noise and deflect. "He's doing... okay. Did he talk to you about..."

It takes her a minute, but then she twists her mouth uncertainly and says, "About leaving Rockton?"

"Yeah," I say. The look on her face says that she doesn't want to come. That's okay. I knew it was a long shot when I asked Dalton to invite her. For all I know, she has a life to go back to. And not everyone is going to want to leave the relative comfort of Rockton for the true wilderness.

"Casey..." she says. "You know I'm not essential services. I'm not someone they're gonna let stay past my term."

"I know," I tell her. It's one of those things no one here really talks about. Nobody wants to think about how their neighbor, their friend, their lover will just be gone one day, back to their real lives.

"Are you sure you want someone with practically no useful skills with you?"

"I think surviving Rockton is a skill in itself," I say before what she's really asking registers. "You're my friend, of course I want you to come with us. But if you have a life to get back to when your terms up, I'm-"

She interrupts me with a humorless laugh. "Don't worry, there's nothing back there for me anymore. When are you planning to leave? _How_ are you planning to leave?"

It's not the quick subject change that has me silently staring. It's the realization that Dalton and I haven't actually talked about that. I assume that he has some sort of plan, but I haven't brought it up with him yet.

"I'm not sure," I say. "Sometime in the spring to give us a head start before winter, but we haven't exactly discussed it. I'm sure Eric has something in mind."

"Is he going to be okay to do this?" she asks. Another thing I haven't thought of.

"We'll see," I say.

She nods. "Okay, I'll stop grilling you for now. It feels like you've been gone forever. You should tell me what you've been doing down south. Is it magical, being back in civilization?"

I laugh and settle onto the couch, Storm at my feet. I have plenty of stories for her. I almost manage to forget about Dalton while I'm telling them.

* * *

I'm there the next time Dalton wakes up, groggy and disoriented, staring at me like he can't remember why I'm here.

"You got stabbed," I say, helpfully.

"I remember," he croaks out. He shifts, winces, and I point to the control for the drip. He gives it a dirty look, then turns and gives me the same look.

"Don't look at me," I say. "Will's the one in charge. And he turned it down."

He looks like he's considering hollering for Anders. I'm betting the only thing stopping him is his dry throat and the pain resurfacing in his ribs.

"You're here," he says instead.

"What, you're telling me that getting beat half to death wasn't a scheme to get me back up here?" I ask, lifting the glass of water by the bed to his lips.

After a few long swallows, he sits back, and sounds much better when he says, "Nah, it was so we'd have more in common."

That startles a laugh out of me, and he grins before sobering and asking, "Did you find him?"

The way he says it and the worry in his voice almost sounds like, "Did you kill him?"

"He's locked in the cell," I say. "He's lucky I wanted to see you more than I wanted to see him dead."

Dalton nods slightly. He shifts and winces again.

"Are you sure you don't want more painkillers?" I ask, even though I know what his answer's going to be.

He doesn't bother actually saying anything, just raises an eyebrow at me. I can't help but smile back at him. I reach out, sliding my hand into his and lacing our fingers together. He squeezes a little, and I squeeze back.

I don't tell him I was worried, and I don't tell him never to do it again. Both are going to happen so many more times over our lifetime, I'd better start getting used to it now.

My thoughts record scratch. That's the first time I've thought about this relationship in terms of the rest of our lives. I suppose it was kind of implicit in agreeing to leave Rockton for the woods with him. But I'd never _thought_ about it before.

I'm not expecting out relationship to fizzle out down the road, I'm expecting it to last. I want to spend the rest of my life with him.

I should feel scared. I know I have commitment issues bundled in with all of my other issues. Instead, I feel a sense of great calm. Like this is how my life was meant to end up, and now that things are slotting into place, a weight has been lifted from me.

"Hey," I say, switching my focus from our hands to his face. "You know I'm in this for the long haul, right?"

He's silent for long enough that doubt starts to itch at the back of my mind. Then a smile slowly spreads across his face.

"Yeah. Me too."

* * *

"We need to figure out what to do about Ricky," Anders greets me with the next morning. "We can't keep him here, but we can't send him back or he'll probably try to use us as some sort of get out of jail free card. We can't just set him loose in the forest, either."

"No trap and release programs for unrepentant serial killers?" I ask.

Anders doesn't laugh. "I'm serious, Casey. What are we going to do with him?"

"I don't know." It's a problem I've been staunchly ignoring. I have no idea what to do with him because Anders is right. The only options left are to keep him in that cell forever, or kill him. I like to think we aren't cold blooded murderers.

"We can't make Eric decide. It isn't fair to put it all on him."

"I know." I run a hand through my hair. "I know. But he has to be a part of this conversation, since I'm pretty sure he gets the final say."

Anders nods, and glances over to Dalton, who's still sound asleep. He'd be cute, if he didn't have dark circles around his eyes and was still too pale for comfort.

"We're not waking him up for this," I say. Anders glances at me, guilty, but nods again.

"I know." He grimaces. "I just want this over and done with. He's loud, Casey. He's not saying any shit I haven't heard before, but damn is he loud. I've got Kenny on me to do something about him, and he's scaring people."

"It's too bad we can't gag him," I say. It's a testament to how much living here has changed me. I might have thought that down south, but I never would have said it. And my partner never would have looked as if he were considering it.

"No," he says, "guess we can't." He snickers a little. "He'd bite, and I bet he has rabies."

"What has rabies?" comes from the bed. "Damn it, Will."

"No one!" he says, turning to Dalton and raising his hands. "We're just trying to figure out what to do with Ricky."

Dalton grimaces, and I can't tell if it's because of pain or because of Ricky. Although I guess that's the same thing, in the end.

"The council can deal with him," he says. "Or, hell, keep him locked up and give him to whatever new sheriff they find."

Anders and I share a look. It's the first time I've heard Dalton refer to the possibility of a new sheriff neutrally. There's always been tension in his voice, but now he sounds like he'd like nothing more than someone to take his place and deal with everything that comes along with the position.

"So..." Anders says. "That's... still a thing?"

"Still a thing," Dalton says. The air goes out of him as he tries to sit up and he makes a pained noise when he falls back the half inch he managed to get up. Anders goes over and helps him sit up more, using a spare pillow to wedge him half sitting.

"We need to talk about that," I say quietly, and Dalton shoots me a look that I would almost call panic. I add, "I hope you've been thinking about it, because my plan currently consists of 'make Eric do the planning' since actually know about what we'll need and need to do," and the look turns from panic to embarrassment.

"Oh, I know that look," Anders says, delighted. "You've been too busy moping around here because Casey's gone to actually remember why and do something about it."

"I don't _mope_," Dalton says. He scowls when Anders and I share a grin.

"It's okay," I say. "I'd miss me too."

Dalton grumbles something under his breath, then sighs and says, "We do need to talk. After Anders helps me back to my house."

"It's cute you think you're moving anywhere yet," Anders says. I nod. Dalton looks mutinous.

"I'm still your boss," he says, glaring and making movements to get up. I push him back down, gently but firmly, like I'm pushing Storm down from jumping up to greet me.

"I'm sorry, what was that?" Anders asked. "I'm in charge until you can get out of that bed?"

"If I left anyone in charge it'd be Casey," Dalton grumbles.

"And Casey says stay in bed," I say. He gives up and settles back, looking like he wants to cross his arms and throw us both in a cell. Anders gives me a subtle fist bump when Dalton's not looking.

"Did Jacob find you while you were after Ricky?" Dalton asks. He looks concerned, and the worry over Jacob that I've forgotten about reappears with a sick swoop in my stomach.

"No," I say. "But Anders was there."

"Shit," Dalton says. "If he saw you, he's probably waiting until he can get you alone." He makes a face like he hates what he's about to say. I jump in to save him from having to say it.

"You want me to go for a walk and see if Jacob finds me," I say, nodding a little. It's a good idea, as much as he hates it when I go into the woods alone.

"I don't _want_ you to," he says, then sighs. "But you should, let him know I'm okay."

"Got it," I say. Dalton presses his free hand to his chest, over the stab wound. "You know the only thing that's going to make that hurt less is more painkillers, right? You can't just will it better."

He gives me a disgruntled look, letting his hand drop. "It's fine."

I look at his drawn face, the lines of pain deepening by the minute, the casts on his arm and leg, the bandages on the lesser stab wounds. He tracks everywhere my eyes go.

"Uh huh," I say. I nod to Will, who's silently moved over to the IV line while Dalton was focused on me. "You'll thank us for this later."

"I won't," Dalton says, but he's visibly relaxing, whether it's from the pain lessening or the painkillers making him not care.

"You will," I say. I pull up the blanket and drop a kiss to his forehead. "I'll make sure the militia has someone within hollering distance if you need anything."

I jerk my head to Anders, and turn to leave, but Dalton catches my hand. "Be careful," he says.

"I will."

Outside, Anders heads back to the station and I head for the flag in the woods. It doesn't take any time at all for Jacob to appear out of the trees once I get there.

"Eric's okay," is the first thing I say. Jacob's entire body visibly relaxes.

"That guy didn't hurt him?"

"Uh," I say. "Not that okay. But he's not dying or anything."

Jacob nods. We're... easier around each other, now. I feel less of a need to make him like me, and he seems to feel less awkward when he has to talk to me. It's a victory all around. But I haven't seen him for months and he seems uncomfortable.

"What's wrong?" I ask. He looks over in surprise, before nodding a little.

"Eric said you left," he says.

"Yeah," I say. "They kicked me out. I'm only back because Eric got hurt."

"Why?" Jacob asks, and it takes me a moment to realize he's asking why they kicked me out, not why Dalton was hurt.

"I don't actually know," I say. I shove my hands into my coat pockets. "I've been trying to find out. I think something's wrong, but I don't know what."

Jacob nodded. "Are you- Is he going south with you?"

"Eric?" I ask. "Didn't he tell you? We're going to start our own Rockton. Somewhere away from here. He was supposed to ask you if you were going to come."

"He did," Jacob says. "But I didn't think..."

He drifts off, but I know what he's getting at. "You didn't think _I_ was serious about it. I am, Jacob. Eric can't go south, and I have no intentions of trying to make him, or breaking it off with him." I pause, before adding. "I'm serious about this. And I know that it's asking a lot, but Eric would- _we_ would really like it if you came with us."

His hands are opening and closing at his side, but when he catches me looking at them, he stops and visibly forces himself to relax. "I'm not living in a town," he says.

"I know," I say, a smile spreading. "It wouldn't be any different than here, just a new place."

"Guess you'll need someone who knows how to live out here," he says.

"Yeah," I say, laughing internally at how he's not saying that Dalton's gone soft, living in town, but he's definitely thinking it.

"Okay," he says, standing up straighter. "I'll go."

I'm grinning by now, and he's smiling back at me. Things are falling into place to make this easier for all of us. "I'll let Eric fill you in on the details, once he can get out here again." I sober. "He's pretty limited in where he can go right now."

Jacob looks worried, but nods. Now that the conversation seems to be over, he's glancing around, like a kid waiting to escape a party with too many people in it.

"Do you need anything?" I ask, but he shakes his head. "Okay. I should be getting back."

"I can walk you," he says, knowing Dalton doesn't like me out here on my own. But I shake my head in return.

"I'll be fine. There's only so much trouble I can get into this close to town."

He doesn't look like he's convinced, but he nods anyway. He turns, conversation over, and disappears into the woods. He's probably going to shadow me back to town anyway, but I don't complain. If I do get in trouble this close to town, it won't be the first time.

I scale the tree to grab the flag down, and turn, heading back to town with it tucked in my pocket.

Dalton is quietly ecstatic when I tell him. I get the sense that he didn't think Jacob was going to agree to go. And it was quietly tearing him up inside.

I don't know what he would've done if Jacob had said no. Would we have struck out for the woods alone and stayed near Rockton? I don't think he'd be able to go without his brother. And if he did...

Well he'd never lose the guilt of leaving behind his brother twice.

* * *

**Late February**

It's the end of February, and I'm still in Rockton. Dalton has gone from being too injured to do anything and grumpy about it, to healed just enough to be a pain in the ass about it.

"You're a terrible patient. You know that, right?" I ask as he stumps across the room without the crutch he's supposed to use. "And that's not a walking cast."

"Look who's talking," he mutters as he throws another log on the fire.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I ask, but I'm smiling and not mad about it. I know I'm a terrible patient.

"I'm not the one who was interrogating people right after getting stabbed," he grumbles as he comes back to the couch. "Least I'm staying inside."

"Yeah, because when you tried to go out you slipped and fell and probably reinjured your ribs," I point out, grinning. "You can't fool me. You'll be up and about again the second I turn my back."

"You could distract me," he says, leaning forward. "Tire me out so I won't want to be ‘up and about'," he whispers against my lips.

I laugh, before kissing him. Before it got too heated, though, I put a hand on his good shoulder and gently pushed him back. He goes, with a question in his eyes. It's not often I'm not up for sex.

"I distinctly remember you not letting me jump you when I was injured," I say, only a little smug to be able to get him back for that. He was right at the time — sex was a bad idea — and I'm right now.

"I remember you being a pain in the ass about that," he says, dropping his forehead to my shoulder. I laugh and run my hand through his hair. "If I'd known you'd be so vindictive about it-"

"You would've done the same thing," I say. "Because you're a good man who knows better than to let an overeager woman hurt herself more."

He pulls back to look at me brow furrowed but laughed in his eyes. "I can't tell if that was a compliment or a pointed comment about our current problem."

"Good," I say. "It could be both, if I thought you'd listen to a pointed comment about how you should be resting."

I can tell he's in more pain than he's letting on by how he settles against me instead of continuing the playful argument. It takes him a minute to get comfortable, and he winces a couple times.

"It's late enough you can have more painkillers," I say, not expecting him to actually take me up on the offer. He's taking maybe half as many pills as he should, half as often as he should. But if I point that out, he'll just level me with a pointed look about my own record on taking prescribed painkillers.

He grunts something that I know better than to assume is an okay, so I just settle back against the couch, closing my eyes, just enjoying the moment. This place feels like home more than any other place I've ever lived — even when I lived with my parents. I've missed being here, and not just being with Dalton. It's going to be hard, if we actually do start a new town.

I'm beginning to think that might not be necessary. If I can just get some concrete dirt on them... My investigation is on hold now that I'm in Rockton again, but it'll start as soon as Dalton's well enough for me to feel okay heading back to Dawson City. Or until the council kicks me out for a second time.

I'm brought out of my thoughts by Dalton murmuring, "You have time to talk now?" and sitting up, moving to face me.

"I-" Oh, right, I said we needed to talk about leaving Rockton. I sit up more and turn to face him, too. "Well, I guess I can make time between my busy plans of sitting here with you and then going to sleep with you and then-"

"Okay, okay," he says, "I get it."

I let the silence grow a little, seeing if he's going to be the one to bring up the elephant in the room. When he doesn't, I nudge him a little by saying, "So, leaving Rockton."

"Yeah," he says, shifting a little. "I-" he starts and stops, gathering his thoughts more. "I guess I've been hoping for some... deus ex machina to come along and fix the whole situation."

I want to hug him, even though I can't, so instead I knock my knee against his. "The council-"

He shakes his head. "Even if you found something on them, I'm tired of living life, waiting for an ax to fall." He widens his eyes, and rushes to assure me, "If you've changed your mind, though-"

"No," I say, stopping that before he can start. "No, if you want to go, we're going. I've already committed to living up here for-" I almost say "the rest of my life," even though we haven't had that conversation yet "-for as long as we're together. The exact location doesn't matter to me."

He still looks worried, though. "It's not the same," he says. "Living out there, even if we're building a town, isn't the same as living in an established place like this. As uncivilized as this might seem." He grimaces.

"It's as civilized as anywhere else I've lived," I say, heading that entire line of conversation off at the pass. "The point is, I know it's going to be different. I know it's going to be harder. And I don't care."

He leans forward a little and studies my face, looking for something. I hope I give it to him, because I'm serious about this. Diana was right when she told me that I didn't have a life south. That I was practically dead until I came up here. I don't want to have a do-over, not when I'm happy up here.

Once he's settled back, a hand over the worst rib fracture, I say, "I hope we're not just going to pick a direction and start walking."

"No," he says. "I need to go to Dawson. Get on Google Earth and scope out a site. I have a few ideas..." He drifts off, thinking. I'm not surprised that he's already been researching, probably since the first time we had a conversation about leaving Rockton.

"And then?" I prod his shoulder.

"Well, we already have a plane," he says, and leans forward for a quick kiss. "So, supplies, then delivering them to our spot, then bringing the people."

"You make it sounds so simple," I say, with a laugh. I know it's not going to be anywhere near that simple. That we're going to have to come up with a way to get a steady money flow for things we can't get out of the woods, that we're going to need a way for people in need to find us. That even getting the supplies to start this in the first place isn't going to be easy.

But, looking at Dalton, I can't help but to trust that this is going to work out. Between the two of us, we're going to make this work. There's a lot to be said about determination and willingness to work hard. We have both in spades.

* * *

The council — Phil — calls in the morning. Which we know because Val sends one of the militia to wake us up and get us to her house. Dalton is pissed.

He leaves his crutch behind, and I can see he's regretting it by the time we make it to Val's, his face pale and lined with pain.

"This better be damn good," he's already saying as we walk into the room. We'd both been up late, hashing out details of our plan. "We have more important things to be doing."

Yeah, like catching another hour of sleep, or doing more planning, or anything but being here, talking to the council.

"Then you'll be happy to receive this news," Phil says. "We have a replacement. Your services are no longer needed in Rockton. You'll be meeting the new sheriff at the airstrip and handing over the plane. Val has the details."

Dalton doesn't say anything while Val shifts uncomfortable and the radio stays silent. I can see him clenching his jaw, and then he says, "You coulda just left a message with Val, instead of waking us up."

"Yes, well," Phil says, surprise tinging his voice. They called Dalton's bluff, only to find out it's not a bluff. Not anymore. "Notifying you ourselves is the least we can do after your years of service. And, of course, you have four days before you're expected at the airstrip. Oh, and Ms. Duncan?"

"Yeah," I say, warily.

"In light of current events-" I mouth the words slowly as he continues, sharing a "what the fuck" look with Dalton "-you are welcome to stay. I'm sure we will be needing someone to show Sheriff Baletag the ropes, as it were. We may have been too hasty in ejecting you earlier."

"If that's all, I'm going back to bed," Dalton says. He turns and stalks out the door, as best he's able to.

I'm still staring at the sat-phone in shock. Dalton might not be bluffing, but I hadn't thought they'd actually go through with it until he's gone. Hell, I figured we'd be leaving them in the lurch for all essential positions, including sheriff.

"Casey?" Val says, and I realize they're waiting on an answer.

"Are you kidding me?" I say, then turn and follow Dalton out.

He isn't waiting for me, instead far enough away that I almost need to jog to catch up with him. We walk in silence back to his house. Inside, I look around, taking in all the books lining the walls, and, shit.

"I thought I'd feel something... more," Dalton says, breaking the silence. He turned, must see the look on my face, and says, "It's okay."

"How are we going to..." I drift off, looking around again.

"It's okay," he says again, and looks straight at me. "All the important things are coming with me. The rest is just stuff."

"Aw," I say, a little choked up. "You're just trying to get in my pants."

"I'm not the one stopping that," he says, stepping into my space and cupping the side of my face, a thumb gently brushing across my cheek.

"Are you really okay with this?" I ask. He's leaving his life behind. Not like I did, but his actual life.

"No," he says, his breaking. "But I'm ready for it."

I guess that's all anyone can ask for.

* * *

**Early March**

It doesn't take long for Dalton to be, well, as settled in as he's ever going to be. He doesn't bring much from Rockton, so my nearly-empty apartment remains nearly-empty. I'm kind of amazed by how much he pared down his possessions. He just shrugs when I bring it up.

"We're not going to have anywhere to store a lot of things for a while anyway," he says, before he leaves for yet another walk with Storm.

That's his main hobby now: going on walks away from town with Storm. Sometimes I go with him, mostly I don't. I get the sense that he needs this alone time if he's going to manage living down here, even for a month and a half.

It's probably slowing the healing of his leg, but I'm not going to get between the man and the great outdoors. I value his life more than that.

We gave the people coming a date that we'd come back. April 13th, a Friday. I think Dalton's fucking with me, but when I mention it, he gives me that blank stare. Who hasn't heard of Friday the 13th?

Oh right, someone who grew up in the woods. I don't give him any grief over it; we're not there yet. I don't know if we'll ever be there, or if it will always be a sore spot.

I use the time that he's gone to continue my investigation into the council. I have Phil's number now. I could call him any time I wanted. But I want to keep that in my back pocket. There's no reason to tip my hand so early, even though I have a month and a half, at most, to wrap this up.

The financial records I've been able to access are damning. Some do lead nowhere, but most? Most lead to a parent company, funneling their money upward. And most are failing, just not doing well on income.

It makes me wonder if maybe not enough people are coming to Rockton, if the money's likely to be funneled up through those companies.

I don't purposefully hide any of this from Dalton, but he doesn't seem interested, so I don't bring it up much.

"Hey," he says, one night when we're laying in bed, sweaty and on the verge of falling asleep. "We can still change our minds, stay here. Or go further-"

I give him an "are you kidding me?" look, then say it to make sure he's really aware of just how stupid that is. "Are you kidding me?"

I turn to look at him over my shoulder, then roll over completely. There are lines etched in his face that weren't there a week ago, stress and anxiety keeping his brow almost permanently furrowed. It's no wonder he was in a bad mood the first time we met.

I smooth one out, and say, "Can we agree that you've given me plenty of outs? And that you can stop now? We're doing this."

"I could do it," he says. "Stay here. It's not that-"

"Seriously?" I say. "Why would you do that to yourself if I'm saying I'm going to the woods with you?"

He sighs, and rolls onto his back. I let him go, and watch patiently while he stares at the ceiling.

Finally, he says, his voice tight, "I don't want you to regret this."

I push myself up on my elbow. "I already told you, I'm not going to regret it. I have no plans to regret it. I'm more sure about this than anything else in my life, ever. What more do you need? Because if you really don't want to do this, now's the time to say something. If you'd rather just go into the woods instead of try to start a new town, _now's the time to say something_. I can't keep-"

I let out a frustrated sigh. If this is going to work, he's going to need to believe me as much as I need to let him vent without taking it personally.

"You need to trust me," I say, "and I don't know what I can do to help with that."

His voice is like sandpaper when he says, "I don't know either. It's not-" he mumbles something under his breath that I don't catch, then sighs and says, "I'm not this lucky. I don't get to _keep_ things, okay? Everything- Every_one_ is transitory. I just..."

"Can't believe your good fortune?" I waggle my eyebrows at him, drawing out a laugh. We've known each other less than a year, but given out fast our relationship progressed... "Look, I'm pretty sure that if you existed on any official document, we'd be married already."

He turns his head, blinking at me. "You'd want to marry me?"

I roll my eyes and say, using the same tone, "You'd want to marry _me_?"

He looks unbelievably offended for a split second and opens his mouth as if he's going to argue, then stops. He smiles a sheepish smile, "Okay, yeah, I get it. I'm being an idiot."

"Little bit," I say, smiling. I lay back down and snuggle up against his side, one arm thrown over his chest. "Now go to sleep so you're not grumpy tomorrow when Storm wakes you up at five for a walk." He makes a grumbling noise, but doesn't deny it when I add, "It's your own damn fault; she wanted to go out at reasonable times when it was just me."

He doesn't reply, just puts his hand over mine and closes his eyes.

* * *

**Mid March**

"What's that?"

Dalton is leaning over my shoulder, studying the laptop screen. It's not very interesting, just a spreadsheet of numbers that are making my eyes glaze over, but he doesn't know that.

"Numbers," I say, and he snorts a laugh, his breath warm against my ear. "Profit numbers for the past eight quarters for every company I can find related to Rockton."

"Ah," he says, pulling back.

I twist in my chair to look at him. He looks pale, and drawn, and it's not a new look on him. He said he'd come south with me, that he'd try living here. And he has, and it's too much.

Too much noise, too many people, too many smells and too much pollution and not enough open space. It's been a little more than two weeks and his shoulders are up around his ears with tension all the time now.

"I don't want you to lose your home," I say. "This isn't about me, it's about how I don't want you and Jacob to lose your home. If I can find why they're letting _serial killers_ into Rockton, if I can find something to hold over them, I can get us back in."

That's a lie. I already know why. They're running out of money. Rockton has become a money pit over the past two years, and investors are getting nervous. So whoever finds people, whoever vets people, is trying for more big ticket criminals. People with lots of cash to spend and lots of need to hide.

"Okay," Dalton says, not giving me anything.

"You're not going to tell me if you want me to give this up, are you?" I ask. We're pretty committed to going north at this point, and not to Rockton, but I figure that until we actually land, there's always a chance I can fix this.

"Nope," he says, rocking back on his heels a little bit.

"Great," I say. "I have Phil's office number, by the way," I add. "At least, I think it's his. If you want to call him up and yell at him."

"I'm good."

"Are you really okay with this?" I ask finally, frustrated with everything. He's trying to make me make my own decision, like it doesn't involve him. Like it isn't, really, more important to him than to me.

He takes a long time to answer, but I don't let up, I just stare him down. Finally, he says, "Yeah, I think I am."

I've been watching the news, waiting for mention of Ricky, and nothing has come. I'm confident that it's because the council, when we handed him over to them, had him killed. It's not a comfortable thought, but it could work in my favor. If I want to get us back Rockton, I'm eighty percent sure I can blackmail our way to safety. And seventy percent sure I could use my inheritance to just buy out the entire operation.

But if Dalton's okay with leaving, _really_ okay with it... I don't want to have this hanging over our heads. If we go back to Rockton, we're always going to be worried about being thrown out again. If we buy Rockton, that comes with its own host of problems and responsibilities that won't be a factor in the new town for years.

"Okay," I say, closing my laptop's lid. "Okay, then I'm done."

"You're done?" he asks cautiously. "I don't need you to-"

"If you're really okay with leaving, if you think Jacob's really okay with leaving, then I don't want to go back to Rockton," I say, standing up.

He steps up to me and kisses me, deep and slow. When he pulls back, he's smiling. "Okay," he says. "Glad I don't have to return that plane."

"Pretty sure Mary wouldn't take it," I say, laughing a little. "We're doing this. No takebacks."

"No takebacks," he agrees, his smile growing into a grin. "Just us and ten of our closest friends."

"Now that's a stretch," I say. I'm feeling light, happy, like a great weight of uncertainty and despair has lifted. We're leaving for uncharted territory, literally, in less than a month. And I'm excited.

If only child me could see me now, to know that my parents haven't broken me. That when I grow up, I'm still the same adventurous kid, only now, I'm allowed to have adventures.

I think she'd be happy.


	3. Epilogue

**Late March**

I step off the plane, Dalton behind me, and take a deep breath of the fresh air. There's still snow on the ground, and the area is probably in for another big storm, which is why we're not staying. Just visiting, to make sure the site of our future town is perfect.

There's a stream running by the clearing we set down in, and I can see a lake glittering through the trees. We're still by the mountains, just a few kilometers away from the nearest one.

I turn to Dalton, who's grinning as he looks around. I realize that I'm grinning too, as happiness fills me like a balloon.

I take another deep breath, then say, "Let's go exploring."

Our lives are never going to be the same, but we're going to be just fine.

THE END


End file.
